The Desert Rose
by Hidden Ninja Socks
Summary: (Faerun) Follow the upbringing of Ilgil, a half-Orc taken from her birth clan by the Ilmatari to be raised at St. Jasper's, an all-female-monk monastery. She is one of 36 half-Orcs retrieved along with their enslaved human mothers. As she and her brethren grow up, Ilgil and her friends question their pasts and must make choices that will shape their futures - for better or worse.
1. Act I

**The Desert Rose**

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**Author's Comment: **This is the background to my current half-orc monk who I play with; it is written in such a way that you need absolutely no knowledge of Dungeons & Dragons - it is written so anyone can pick it up and read. **_Only the prologue is written in diary format_** - just thought I'd mention that. I would also like to say the idea of St. Jasper's being located at the Lake of Steam is not cannon - I wanted to locate it near a volcano (since there is at the time of writing no official information on it beyond the fact St. Jasper's exists), and I saw that some forums discussed possible locations for the monastery already. I decided to follow the idea that it is located near Arnrock.

There will be **three** **acts** to this story made up of smaller sub chapters (some were so small I decided it would be stupid to upload them all seperately, so I stuck with uploading each act instead). For those very few who may have read my other story on FanFic, you may recognise some of the names... but rest assured, this story is in no way related to _The Orks of Tam'urt_.**  
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_**ACT I**_

**Prologue: **_**Acquisition of the Children**_

The following extracts are from the _Book of Deeds_, a log of missions and quests the Sisters of St. Jaspers of the Rocks have endeavoured upon. The incursions described resulted in the release of human and half-elven women who had been abducted and enslaved by four Orc clans. A large majority of the slaves' younger half-Orc offspring were also freed.

It was the largest operation the Sisters had organised since 1332, the year of the Sword and Stars. Aided by other Ilmatari clergy and Paladins, the incursions took place during the Midsummer annual holiday. Such missions are considered particularly necessary by the Sisters of St. Jaspers, who, above even other Ilmatari orders, aimed to reduce the suffering of women.

_**1355 Year of the Harp**_

_**Flamerule, Day 21**_

_Twenty of our Sisters, lead by Sister Narviok, left at dawn to go on what is expected to be a five ten-day absence from the monastery, to complete a mission that has been on the drawing board since early 1354. It is not the first mission of its kind St. Jaspers has embarked upon, and it is unlikely to be the last. The aims of the mission are to release the female breeding prisoners (most of whom are human, but there are reputedly a few half-elves amongst the captured) from several Orc clans that have, of recent years, been stalking small towns and roads._

_ The four targeted Orc clans live in the Smoking Mountains, the Firesteap Mountains, the Cloud Peaks and the Calim Desert. The Sisters, aided by our brethren from the Companions of the noble heart and the Order of the Golden Cup, will strike each of the Orc camps simultaneously on the 5__th__ day of Midsummer in a precision incursion. Participating clerics will be taking a Plea of Rest over the Midsummer to allow themselves to be free of prayer obligations and other usual demands._

_ Plans have been laid down to minimise bloodshed and loss of life on both sides. Concoctions that produce a sleep-inducing gas have been created by our clerics, and brethren who are experts in charms and enchantments will utilise their plethora of mind-affecting spells to better calm and disable the Orcs. Stealth will also be employed on this mission to its greatest effect. Brute force will be used only in the most critical of circumstances, should something go awry. Those of us left behind at St. Jaspers will pray to Ilmater for the incursions to go ahead with minimal suffering._

_Signed: Sister Jacinta Goldsmith_

_Witness: Jane Periwinkle_

_**Eleasis, Day 4**_

_Word has arrived by carrier pigeon from the Calim Desert platoon that their mission has been successful, and casualties are reasonably low. Two Paladins from the Companions of the noble Heart, and our own Sister Jeluce perished in the Calim Desert incursion, and numerous others received serious wounds. The wounded from the Calim Desert incursion have been tended to by clerics and are in no further danger. I hope too that the Orcs who were unfortunate enough not to be sedated recover from their wounds, and those who died, may their souls find whatever peace it is that Orcs desire after death._

_ According to the Calim Desert report, the clan Shaman flaunted the efforts of our Clerics and Sorcerers, managing to neutralise or diminish the mind spells. The sleeping gas worked, though in the open desert, the vapours quickly dispersed and did not have as great an effect as it would have in the confines of a cave or permanent residence. The Calim Desert incursion will be analysed at a later date by the Companions of the noble Heart to help improve future battles and to help avoid repeating the same mistakes._

_Jeluce is regrettably ineligible for resurrection due to her age and other criteria. The Paladins, two young noble Heart members, Brother Lanwick and Brother Aubrine, will be raised once their bodies are returned to the monastery here at St. Jaspers, when the freed mothers and their children are brought to Arnrock._

_Signed: Sister Jacinta Goldsmith_

_Witness: Novice Reiwin Tyrial, Novice Bik_

_**Eleasis, Day 5**_

_ This evening, the Smoking Mountains platoon carrier pigeon arrived. The report reads that the incursion took place at midday on hot a cloudless day, as Orcs are most inconvenienced by bright light, and resulted in the release of twelve women who had been abducted, and a majority of their younger half-Orc offspring (twenty-three in total). There were no deaths on either side, only minor injuries. Torga, the head of the Smoking Mountains platoon, states in her report that the mothers and children were extracted with almost little resistance due to the highly effective strategy. Fighting only broke out when some of the more resilient Orcs awoke from their induced sleep, when the last of the mothers were being shown out of the depths of the caves._

_ We thank Ilmater for this good news, and hope that the remaining two reports contain equally pleasing results._

_Signed: Novice Bik_

_Witness: Jane Periwinkle, Percy Periwinkle_

_**Eleasis, Day 16**_

_ After retrieving the women and children held up in the Smoking Mountains, we journeyed by horse and wagon to Innarlith, a port on the eastern tip of the Lake of Steam. From there we sailed for six days to Arnrock, our volcanic island home._

_We arrived this morning with the first of the women and children; the other platoons are yet to return. It was a long journey for the freed slaves and their offspring - I suspect sailing was a little scary for some – the lake can appear like the open sea in rough weather, and when you are crossing from the eastern shores of Innarlith, you sometimes cannot spot the main land. Our travels went reasonably unhindered, our platoon providing ample security and nothing threatened us that we could not stave off. Once we were sailing, we knew we would be protected further by our water sentinels; some of which I personally trained._

_Though the mission is complete for our brethren in other orders, we at St. Jaspers have merely walked the first few steps of what is likely to be a twenty year journey. Narviok and some of the older Sisters have done this marathon before, but it is my first time. Last time, I was among those who had been raised at the monastery – now it is my turn to provide for my kind, though I do not think I have the motherly touch of some. I shall train them to defend themselves, and I will harden their shells, and shield them from those who seek to do them harm._

_Signed: Senior Sister Torga_

_Witness: Senior Sister Gloria Lund, Brother Troy F. Balric (CNH)_

_**Eleint, day 1**_

_ From today, no more of the freed mothers will remain at St. Jaspers – they are heading to their true homes, and elsewhere, escorted by the remaining members of the Order of the Golden Cup. Some have decided to become clerics of Ilmater, and will receive training on the mainland after their initiation had been approved. A portion of the children have already left with their natural or adoptive mothers, and more will leave today. Those who remain behind will be taken under our wings and raised at the monastery._

_As Ilmatari, we did not expect, nor degrade, any of the ex-slaves who did not wish to bring back with them their known (or unknown) children. Some left with several, others left with none – we are simply glad to have helped to end another cycle of slavery, and do not judge the feelings or motives of these unfortunate women. Now we must focus on the children so that when they grow up they can remember their childhood fondly, instead of being glad it is all over._

_Signed: Senior Sister Narviok the Venerable_

_Witness: Brother Aubrine Raun (CNH) __hello ladies, I'm alive and kicking again, nothing keeps me dead for long. You can leave me a message at the _Lotus Eater's_ Tav_

_**Amendment:**__ Anyone found to be leaving inappropriate messages unbefitting of the _Book of Deeds_ will be cleaning the chamber pots every morning for a month, and if said person is departing before then, they shall have the pleasure of being trained for mortal combat by yours truly instead. I need not tell you in person that offenders will not be treated lightly. I may even take a Plea of Rest to ensure you fully get my point and repent for your deliberate stupidity._

_Signed: __**TORGA BLACKARROW**_

_Witness: T.D._

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**Three Dozen Half-Orcs**

Ilgil, at the age of four (possibly five, it was difficult to judge), was one of thirty-six or so half-Orc children who could neither speak common very well nor read or write – and all of them were virtually feral. This was to be expected, they had after all been born into a very different lifestyle; the Sisters who had been around long enough to have raised half-Orcs before did not bat an eye lid at the rough bunch of children who were bolder than most adults. The Sisters were well prepared for the long task ahead of them. Some of the older Sisters were themselves raised at the monastery.

Arnrock was the ideal crèche; the island was surrounded by deep and perilous waters a minimum distance of 60 miles from the nearest mainland lake shore, ideal for containing the newcomers. There was little risk of the young half-Orcs rampaging through the streets of an unsuspecting fishing village or trading post (at least not until they learnt to swim or build a raft) causing all sorts of mischief and havoc. The natural boundaries also served to keep out unwanted visitors.

Besides the Sisters of St. Jaspers, there were very few occupants on the island of Arnrock: most were farmers who had been enlisted to utilise the fertile soils and a handful of port supervisors. The farmers provided a portion of their crops to the monastery in exchange for otherwise free rental of the land.

Not a day after the last of the women departed, Ilgil was found three stories high chasing carrier pigeons along the roof of the monastery; she had climbed up a rose covered trellis. An adolescent Sister was sent up to retrieve the girl, but she met serious resistance as she tried to climb up over the gutter. The half-Orc girl jabbered away in Orcish something about "feeding the clan", while she swung her small stone-like fists at the Sister. The Sister retreated, and devised a slightly more cunning tactic. Ilgil was eventually coaxed down with an offering of glazed honeyed ham, and then spent the next ten-day's worth of nights scrubbing pots and pans.

The Sisters kept the children busy, slowly building up a routine they hoped the children would one day, in their distant futures, appreciate and follow without complaint. Chaos was a normal part of the half-Orcs' lives, and so naturally, the wild children opposed regimented life and preferred to try and do as they so pleased. No particular age group was easier to deal with; the older ones who could speak common fairly well simply chose to be a nuisance; the younger ones, who were not the easiest to communicate with, were simply oblivious to the concepts of what was acceptable and what was not.

Novices in the order expressed their opinions almost daily that the task of raising so many half-Orcs under one roof was, to quote but one of them, 'quite frankly, nigh impossible'. The harrowed young and inexperienced Sisters felt that the job required some kind of miraculous divine intervention to be successful. Teaching three dozen half-Orcs to bathe without upending the tub every night, for example, was only one of an Elder Scroll's worth of tasks novice Sisters had feared since the children had arrived.

Finding their more youthful Sisters' fretting somewhat humorous, the experienced monks allowed them to sweat it out a bit before eventually assuring them there was nothing to worry about.

"Do you truly believe this old codger would want nearly two-score of feral kids in her presence, if she thought she couldn't stop them tearing down the monastery walls?" The eldest Sister, a grey-haired woman named Narviok, spoke about herself in third-person to her juniors good-naturedly. "Yes, we are followers of Ilmater my dears, and there are certain expectations of our order, but we do not bite off more than we can chew. It benefits all our souls to raise these children; the only thing we suffer from is impatience, which is nothing compared to growing up in a violent, volatile clan which only the luckiest and most talented half-Orcs would survive. Our cherubs deserve all out effort, patience and understanding, and nothing less."

It was soon revealed by the older Sisters that there was, in fact, a very simple solution to the bathing problem and most other problems the young Sisters had been concerned about.

A few days after their initial arrival at the monastery, the children above the age of three (or so) had been taken down to the beach in small groups almost every day, under the pretence of having jolly good old time in the sand. Within ten days nearly all of the half-Orcs were up to their knees in brine; the lake was connected to the Shining Sea, making it quite salty. The lake itself looked more like a large elongated gulf or bay.

Unbeknownst to the children, not only was the salt water helping to clean out scratches and enticing lice and other parasites to vacate their hosts, they were being acquainted with water in a place where numerous and sometimes quite violent tantrums neither smashed windows nor flooded the wooden floors. Another benefit of regular beach trips was the amount of energy expended by the half-Orcs; the children were not as difficult to wrestle into bed at eight o'clock every night after a good run around and swim at the lake shore.

Indeed, just after a two ten-days, fear of the water had subsided and most of the children willingly entered the shallows up to their necks, resulting in their stench being substantially reduced to below eye-watering. By the time the women and some of the children were returning to normal lives or starting new ones far away, the concept of sitting in a wooden tub filled with water was not so foreign to those who had remained at the monastery.

Some of the children, including Ilgil, turned out to quite enjoy a warm bath, and liked the stuff called soap that smelt nice. The only thing that Ilgil did not enjoying was having her hair shampooed, and the tangles brushed out. Ilgil thought the Sister scrubbing her head was trying to rip her hair out at first, and stuck the goat milk soap bar in the offending monk's mouth while saying something quite rude in Orcish.

"You'll let me get these knots out, or I'll have to shave your hair off," Sister Torga, a middle aged half-Orc with long black hair pulled back in a plait, spoke back in Orcish after spitting out the soap. "And you'll watch your tongue or I'll be stuffing the soap down _your_ throat next time."

Similar to the way in which the half-Orcs were eased into bathing, so too were they progressively introduced to necessities such as cleaning dishes, gardening , classes and even praying. No one particularly enjoyed washing dishes or making their beds no matter how the Sisters tried to disguise the tasks, and most of the children were bored to tears during prayer sessions. It was during these "days of weening", as the Sisters had coined the first few months of raising new arrivals, that the monastery used its most chipped dishes and worn out bed linen rather than the newer, more well kept ones.

**Seed of Doubt**

Although the Sisters were doing their best to cater for the children, some of the half-Orcs missed the familiarity of their clans; particularly so the oldest ones, who could remember more of their previous life and were more ingrained in Orcish ways. The youngest did not fully comprehend what had happened to them, and some of the particularly intelligent ones realised they were going to be on the island for a long time.

Their mothers had been more than pleased to be freed from the Orcs, but some of the children felt that they would like to go back thank you very much. Having no mother to take them to some faraway home did not help to alleviate the feeling of longing for what they had known. The half-Orcs left behind at the monastery did not all crave to return to their roots, but it was something all but those too young to form permanent memories thought of from time to time.

Others outside the church raised questions about the morals of removing three dozen young half-Orcs from what little family they had. The Sisters remained adamant that the children had been spared a life of constant bullying, degradation, and violence that the Orcs offered them. Narviok insisted that in time, the children would "have the holes in their hearts filled with the kinship they will come to find with one another, the Sisters, and Ilmater himself".

Narviok spoke at one of several meetings on the main land, instigated by the rich.

"We always spend a considerable amount of time deliberating with members of our own clergy the rights and wrongs of our missions," she said, addressing a small congregation at a dinner party.

Narviok looked like a rag amongst mink in her gray monk's attire, and matching hair, surrounded by nobles wearing the latest fashion.

"I maintain that the children are better off growing up at the monastery. The Orcs purpose bred them in numbers to hand pick only the best for the roles within their clans. Those half-Orcs who do not meet expectations must forge their own future as a sub-Orc within their clan; it is a difficult path, and many die at a young age trying to earn equality. The Orcs' motive behind the breeding is to strengthen their clans; a noble cause that any of us could relate to in some way, but the means itself is not acceptable.

"Many Orcs still choose to remain ignorant to the many other cultures of Faerun, and until they realise there are ramifications for kidnapping young women, we at St. Jaspers will continue to free them and liberate the offspring so that they may have a chance to find the equality they crave."

She waited as the nobles chattered in hushed voices, sipping from their wine glasses around the table. A middle aged man balding man with a neatly cropped moustache, spurned by his wife who kept elbowing him in the ribs subtly, directed a question at the elderly monk.

"Ah, yes, well... ahem. Sister, you speak of these half-breeds as though they have the clarity of thought of one as well educated as yourself. How could anyone so young possibly crave equality? I doubt they even understand such a complex concept. They are hardly better off anywhere else in the world outside their clans – the only people offering them sanctuary are Sisters of St. Jaspers."

It was true that in most parts of Faerun half-Orcs often faced racial prejudice, especially from humans, as they did on Orc societies. Narviok had answered similar questions more times than she could recall. She knew quite a few of the nobles in her midst probably prayed to a less concerned deity than Ilmater, and it was likely that no matter what she said their opinions would never sway, but she played the part of the diplomat none the less. If she didn't, it would simply give them something to complain about and throw in her face later.

"What St. Jaspers of the Rocks offers the children is the chance to earn their equality – by the time they are adults, they will be respectful citizens. Only those intent on causing them hurt will treat them as some lesser creature. And my dear fellow, to feel equal among others means to have the same rights as everyone else; to not be questioned for the colour of your skin, or the length of your ears. When a child asks why they are being bullied is an example of a child who feels they are not equal – even if they do not know the word itself, they experience the craving for equality at an instinctive level."

Narviok stood from her seat to take her leave, bowing to the dinner guests. She had wasted as much time as was obligated of her. "I hope you continue to enjoy the evening. I must go; the ship back to the monastery will be leaving shortly. Your invites to such occasions are always welcome."

As predicted, the push for answers continued to arrive on carrier pigeons and trade ships days after the dinner party.

"Assholes, the lot of 'em," snorted Torga one evening, throwing an elegant scroll with a red wax seal into the kitchen's oven fire. "They're purposefully being pestilent."

Ilgil had snuck out of bed to find something other than apples to eat; she listened behind the closed door, peeking through the key hole, but not daring to enter. 'Asshole' wasn't a word she knew the meaning of.

A female Halfling with light brown hair scolded the half-Orc nearly twice her height, smacking her on the forearm with a tea towel. "Don't burn the letters!"

It was comical to the young girl, seeing a Halfling berating someone so massive; Ilgil snickered quietly.

"I wouldn't put it past them to send us something that isn't just a letter, Gloria." Torga replied with a slight huff, folding her arms behind her back as she watched the flames transform the parchment into black dust.

"Oh don't be daft," Gloria said. "Leave being paranoid to me. Paranoia doesn't suit you, big girl. You're the one they ought to be frightened of, anyway. They'd piss in their bloomers and pantaloons if they knew the half of ye."

The Halfling chuckled at her own comment; Ilgil didn't understand what was so funny, it made little sense. Her mind was stuck on trying to recall if she knew what 'daft' and 'bloomers' meant.

Torga looked over her shoulder, glaring at the keyhole. "They're not the only ones who ought to be scared."

Very nearly soiling her own pants, Ilgil backed away from the door. As fast as she could move without making the boards creak, she headed back to bed. When Ilgil got to her dormitory, she hid under the covers half expecting Torga to arrive any minute. But the Sister never came; Ilgil feel asleep and slept until reveille.

The Sisters discussed how they could use diplomacy to get the nobles off their backs. Torga was all for just ignoring the letters, stating "If you ignore them long enough, they'll get bored and find someone else to complain to."

Reiwin, a scholarly half-Elf Sister, suggested that allowing the nobles to see firsthand how the children were progressing might help to change their opinions. Narviok agreed it might be worthwhile, and although Torga had reservations against letting anyone from off the island meet the children so soon, she grudgingly agreed on the condition that only one person be allowed to visit.

Later that month, a representative of the outspoken, a noble lady from a nearby trading port, arrived for a visit to the monastery. Torga acted as a tour guide, showing the guest around the dormitories and answering any questions the noble posed. Torga was careful not to say too much; she did not have a high opinion of wealthy, spoilt people.

After morning tea, the well-dressed woman was lead outside where she observed the children for several minutes from beneath the canopy of an archway. The noble had dark green eyes and blonde hair piled into some kind of beehive; her nails were painted sapphire blue, and her lips were stained a bruised purple. Her dress, an extravagant affair that was not at home inside a monastery, was made of midnight blue silk and black lace.

"How do you feel, little ones, being torn away from your blood kin and then abandoned by your birth mothers?" She asked suddenly, as the half-Orc children wrestled with one another on the grass in the monastery's quadrangle, running around playing their usual rough games.

Nobody answered her, but some stared.

Ilgil got in another punch while her boxing partner gawped open-mouthed at the stranger, snapping his attention back to the matter at hand. None of the children noticed the anger that flared in Torga's amber coloured eyes. The stranger was very quickly hustled away from the children, and never seen again. Unfortunately, though, a seed had been planted in the minds of some.

**Emerging Personalities**

The Sisters of St. Jaspers of The Rocks had rescued only half-Orcs no older than about eight for a very good reason: they were quick to learn and still impressionable. After a certain age, it was kinder to leave them with the Orcs than force a new, strange life upon them.

Within a year, all of the children were able to speak Common well enough (some more proficiently than others). It was crucial to learn the common tongue in order to communicate with those who did not understand Orcish; namely the Dwarvern kitchen hands and the numerous clerics of many races that came and went frequently. Ilgil could now even swear in both languages – 'asshole' was one of her favourites - but had suffered twice as much soap down her throat for it (Torga, it turned out, did not make idle threats). Consequently, Ilgil found herself having to become a little more agile and gutsy to escape the middle aged monk; and she only made the mistake of trying to climb up the dining hall flue once.

There were many Sisters at the monastery, but only six of which regularly supervised and mentored the half-Orc children. Since the closure of the cloisters to the general public, many of the Sisters rotated shifts on the main land, providing services for those in need or raising money for the church by serving as mid wives for well-paying nobles alongside the clerics of their order. Raising the half-Orcs was a full-time occupation unto itself and required the monks involved to be removed from main land activities most of the time.

The six mentors were of mixed races: two half-Orcs, Torga and Bik (begrudgingly nicknamed "Biscuit"); a half-Elf, Reiwin; two Humans, Narviok and Jacinta; and Gloria, the neither timid nor delicate Halfling that had been with Torga in the kitchens. The mixed bunch had been chosen so as to expose the children to a variety of races, and because of their well-honed variety of skills.

Out of the best interests of the children the mentors made it a priority have one-on-one time with their small monks-to-be, to build bonds and keep an eye on their wellbeing. Some children found themselves having one-on-one time more than most, while others (usually those who were adapting well) had a little less. Ilgil sat in the middle majority; she was as equally indifferent to her past as she was to her present and was completely uninterested in her future (although, it could hardly be expected for any six year old to give much thought to their future). Most of the time Ilgil seemed more interested in rocks and exploring every square inch of the island than listening to lessons of Faerun history and culture, or learning how to cook beef curry.

Eventually Ilgil's participation in aiding the kitchen hands with anything more than chopping vegetables or tenderising meat was discretely reduced; the kitchen hands kept finding rocks in the stews and curries. Ilgil had innocently misinterpreted "rock salt" as "salty rocks", which she had been more than happy to collect from the shores.

It was around this time that the odd and sometimes quite ghastly sounds of musical instruments could be heard in the evenings after dinner. A few of the students were taking lessons with Jacinta and some of the novice Sisters. There were four known among the children, three girls and a young boy, who openly practiced their music - but there was rumour of a fifth.

Nobody could wheedle information out of the students and tutors about the possible fifth musician, but like all secrets at the monastery the student's anonymity was short lived – one night before bed, Orlen was ambushed in the corridors by three of the older boys. He was found to be in possession of a lute. Orlen was highly embarrassed, and his friends poked fun at him as though he had been caught on a midnight walk with a girl. The teasing was very short lived; it ended when the boy with ginger hair ended up unconscious with a lute stuck on his head.

**A Window to the Outside World**

Ilgil felt better suited to lessons which required physical application rather than pure theoretical knowledge; she was an enthusiastic student of martial arts, where her true strength –which was, quite literally, _strength_ – was most obvious. She could hold her own against any one of her fellow half-Orc students; though not because she had any sort of martial prowess yet – many of their practice matches started with a few wobbly fancy kicks and awkward punches before melting into a common tussle.

During an afternoon break proceeding one such martial arts class, Ilgil and her friend Hoarshu (a girl of similar age from a different birth clan) had snuck out of the monastery to go down to the shore by themselves. It was against regulation for students under the age of ten to go out of the grounds without a Sister with them, but they hardly cared – it was more exciting to go to the shore when you knew you were breaking the rules. It was a hot afternoon, which made the cool waters even more appealing.

After twenty minutes of swimming about and throwing blobs of wet sand at each other, the pair decided to go beach combing and followed the shoreline around the head. Hoarshu picked up a piece of oddly shaped drift wood and a crab shell, and Ilgil picked up pebbles of varying colours and patterns. Hoarshu had slightly lighter skin than Ilgil, and slate grey eyes. Her hair was just as dark, but she kept it braided while Ilgil often left it out of had it in a pony tail.

The pair was quietly examining their newest finds as they walked around the base of a cliff into another bay. They stopped dead in their tracks. There was another child, about a quarter of a mile away, playing in the pebbly sand.

None of the children at the monastery had ever seen a non half-Orc child, or any other child for that matter besides themselves, since they had arrived at St. Jaspers over a year ago. And this child was most evidently not half-Orc; it had pale, reflective skin and short bowl-cut blonde hair.

Curious, amazed, and apprehensive all at once, the girls had taken shelter behind a large rock. They discussed the other child, wondering whether it lived on the island or had come over on a boat; whether it would attack them if it saw them; what race it belonged to and what gender it was. The pair decided to approach and talk to it. So they brought their finds along with them, Hoarshu suggesting they could offer them as presents to help prevent things going ugly, as apparently that's what adults sometimes did to make friends (Hoarshu paid a bit more attention in history lessons than Ilgil). Ilgil on the other hand silently thought her rocks would make good projectiles should the need arise.

The pale child spotted the two half-Orc girls walking up the beach; it eyed them cautiously, and stood up, no longer piling sand into a giant heap. Hoarshu had called out a greeting in Common, to which she was happy to get a reply, and when the pair was within a few feet of the other child, they could see it was human.

"Told you it was a human boy," Hoarshu whispered, "he hasn't got pointy ears."

This stranger was around nine years of age, though he was barely taller than the sixish-sevenish year olds standing before him.

"You must be from the monastery," He spoke diffidently, his eyes lingering on their unusually muscular arms.

That was the ice breaker; after the "peace offering" of coloured pebbles, a crab shell and a piece of driftwood, the children exchanged polite words. Ilgil left most of the talking to Hoarshu, who spoke Common more fluently and had smaller tusks.

Ilgil had a chance to shine later, saving the boy from a potentially nasty wasp bite by clapping her hands over the insect as it flew around his head, consequently having it sting her palm instead.

Terrance Periwinkle, as the boy was named, was most thankful and seemed quite impressed that the girl was so keen to follow the doctrine of Ilmater (as Narviok continually told them, "The most devout followers of Ilmater take on the suffering of others"). Ilgil had not intended to hurt herself, she had simply not thought about the consequences of squashing a wasp with her bare hands. But she bit back tears and nodded sagely, pretending that had been her intentions anyway, not wanting to look stupid.

Knowing that they would probably not be allowed to play with Terrance, Ilgil and Hoarshu kept him a secret from their peers and the Sisters. Terrance promised not to mention them to his parents who were farmers on the island. Over several weeks the girls got into a routine of sneaking out of grounds to play with Terrance; he did not stay a secret for long. Some of the girls' half-Orc brethren had caught them, and soon Terrance was introduced to more and more half-Orcs until he was part of a very large circle of friends and acquaintances.

As more half-Orcs joined in on the secret expeditions to the beach, the lower hills or other sites out of view from the monastery, Terrance became more exposed to their personalities; though they were quite rough with one another, the children were always careful not to involve Terrance in their friendly play fights. Ilgil had taken personal responsibility for Terrance's health when he was with them, and gave anyone who got a little too excited a reminder-punch to not be rough with their pure Human friend.

**Paltry Competition**

It was a little hard for anyone not to notice half the students missing from the monastery grounds of an evening or during midday break. Gloria, the Halfling, had for sometime been spying on the half-Orcs, keeping Narviok and the other mentors informed of the developments. The Sisters had decided to allow their students to continue meeting Terrance, whose parents they knew personally, as it would make the day the children went to the main land – which was drawing ever nearer – a little easier. It was also an excellent way to polish the children's Common tongue, as the Sisters knew Terrance only spoke in Common and didn't understand an ounce of Orcish.

Torga and Biscuit had continued teaching the children Orcish after their arrival, it was handy to have two languages, but to speak Common was most necessary for getting along in wide world of Faerun; particularly when dealing with snobbish, highly judgmental, racist nobles or similar ilk (as Torga had said).

Come winter, when the days were shorter and colder, the mentors had given permission for Terrance to come and meet his friends in St. Jaspers. All the students were bewildered and stunned that they had not been punished for sneaking off for so long; but in the words of Gloria, "There be nothin' you can keep from _me_ fer long. An' if we'd wanted to, we would have stopped you. But don't go thinkin' that means yer can go breakin' rules all the time an' get away with it scott-free!"

Twice a week Terrance rode a horse to the monastery from his modest homestead and stayed overnight; this was very thrilling for the half-Orc students, who had never in their short lives thus far done something quite exciting as a sleepover.

For the first couple of weeks, until some of the excitement had worn off, Terrance's presence invoked a sort of frenzy in the children. Even Torga, the most formidable of their mentors, could barely keep them under control. Her threats of cancelling future sleepovers were replied to with cocky confidence rather than the usual fear and respect ("We'll just sneak out – you or Gloria won't catch us again. Not if we all run in different directions!").

Thanks to Terrance, by the time summer rolled around marking the second year since the Children had been brought to St. Jaspers, even Ilgil was speaking clearer Common. She could now recite several short poems and play word games such as _Dip Dip Dog Shit_. The library was now open without the need of a supervisor to all except those under five; the mentors trusted them enough to not eat the leather bound texts or to use the parchment for toilet paper.

Books with pictures were most preferred by everyone, particularly volumes depicting gore or animals. Biscuit nearly caved in the heads of a few of the older boys who had been looking at breasts in a large book ("How dare you abuse you library privileges! That maternity tome is for educating our clerics, not for ogling at!"). Indeed, by the time she had finished with them they needed books on medicine.

The library was not the only place now free for exploring. Students were being taken further from the monastery, now expected to help out on some of the nearer farms including the one Terrance worked at, and were allowed to roam beyond the monastery grounds in their free time during daylight hours. Ilgil, Hoarshu and a handful of their fellows travelled by foot to Periwinkle Farm with Jacinta three times a week; they were taught how to milk cows, shovel hey (and less appealing messes), groom horses, use tills and a do variety of other farm tasks.

Ilgil was fairly good at most farm jobs, and liked the animals. She was quite fond of the pigs, and offered to feed them whenever the chance arose. To her surprise the most challenging task was not ploughing fields – she met her match in the chicken coop.

The young half-Orc had heard plenty of anecdotal stories describing the flightless birds as cowardly and stupid. She expected the hens to be friendly or at least timid; she'd never seen a live chicken before (only dead ones at dinner time). This image was not entirely false - when the squat birds weren't sitting on their nests, they matched the profile well. But heavens forbid you had to shove your hand under their feathery bellies to pull an egg out of the nest box; the clucky hens were vicious, constantly stabbing their beaks at intruding hands (or noses and eyes) so violently and with such speed, it vaguely reminded Ilgil of a striking snake.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, there were a dozen aggressive roosters to contend with. They didn't need an excuse to be vicious; the simply seemed to exist in a constant state of mild psychosis.

Her first time collecting the eggs and cleaning out nest boxes, Ilgil had been warned about the roosters by Terrance's mother.

"Don't let 'em intimidate you, or they'll just pick on you more. And keep an eye on 'em; the boys've got nasty spurs on their legs."

From the description, Ilgil expected the roosters to run up and kick her in the shins or something to that effect; but it was not to be the case. Instead, they used the coop's corridor as a runway and threw themselves at her, legs raised like scimitars, kamikaze bird style.

Surprised by the attack, Ilgil ended up with two gashes on her chest and was knocked over backwards. She would never forget what happened next; the experience would remain with her forever. Lesson number one of the chicken coop: Never fall down. Don't even bend over to tie up your boot laces (if you have any).

The instant her back hit the ground Ilgil became a living chicken magnet; birds from every corner of the coop swooped down and started stabbing her with their beaks, relentlessly pecking at her entire body. She flailed her arms and legs wildly trying to shoo them like flies, but they were surprisingly agile and persistent. Close to panic, Ilgil rolled over to protect her face and managed to regain her feet using one of the A-frames that held the nest boxes; as if a spell had been lifted, the birds casually walked away again. All bar the biggest, meanest rooster of them all... He stood there, chest puffed out, glaring at her challengingly. His beady eyes rather menacing for a stereotypically dopey species. The rooster had a large, dark maroon comb that was bigger than Ilgil's hand. This bird would become her first mortal enemy.

Ilgil couldn't believe she had been bested by the beast; the feathery lump had felt like a flying boulder when it had collided into her. Chest bleeding, she kicked out angrily at the bird – and missed – before retreating to the doors, walking backwards to keep both eyes on the triumphant looking cock.

Ilgil felt extremely frustrated and embarrassed by her overwhelming loss. She was used to being a top contender in tussles. She'd never live it down if anyone found out she'd been chased out of the coop by next winter's dinner. When Jacinta, upon seeing Ilgil's battered condition, asked if she wanted to milk the cows next week instead, Ilgil refused, volunteering her time at the farm every week entirely to working in the chicken coop. It was almost a full-day task, collecting the eggs three times a day, feeding and watering them, and cleaning poo out of the nests every morning and clearing out rotting - sometimes green or blue, depending on how long they had been undiscovered for- hen carcasses time to time.

"Chickens got you a good one did they?" Terrance teased her jokingly when he heard the story off Hoarshu. Ilgil just grunted in displeasure; she didn't want reminding.

Several weeks passed, with Ilgil constantly looking over her shoulder whenever she worked in the coop. The roosters were a stealthy and cunning lot, far more intelligent that most people had given them credit for – and none of them had gotten any friendlier. But she was smarter than they were (she assured herself), and she knew what game they were playing at. Every time she turned her back, the roosters stalking her would charge, the thudding of their feet audible above the ambient clucking. Whenever she turned around, they would halt and start pecking innocently at the ground as though minding their own business. If they managed to get close enough, they'd throw stealth to the winds and toss themselves at her, barrelling into her with their surprisingly hard chests and sometimes their barbs.

The hens were a bother as well; smaller but more numerous they tended to flock around her legs, curiously pecking at her clothing, pinching her skin or prodding her with rather pointy beaks. She ended up with a ring of bruises around her knees (the average height of the hens) because of them.

Chickens only occupied a portion of Ilgil's time. She continued to study (that was unfortunately mandatory). The students had been learning more about Ilmater, and the history of the religion and its renowned monasteries and church buildings. From what Ilgil could understand Ilmater was a kind natured and somewhat powerful, well known deity who aimed to ease suffering of all. Ilmater's dogma had earned him several arch enemies amongst the other deities worshipped throughout Faerun. Ilgil couldn't recall their names, but she remembered Gloria describing Ilmater's polar opposite: a goddess that relished in the pain and suffering of others, whose followers made a career of being nasty, conniving, dealers of emotional and physical torment – or in layman's terms, a cult of torturers.

In other classes, they learned about etiquettes, nobles and other tediously dull things – well, they were supposed to, but there were only a handful of students who actually paid any attention; Reiwin, their tutor for most of the boring subjects, had given up trying to get everyone to "absorb the knowledge". As Orlen had pointed out during the hot, sweaty afternoons listening to Reiwin waffle on, the only thing that did any absorbing of any form was the vestment on his back.

One of the more enjoyable skills Ilgil had learned through the summer was how to ride a horse; the monastery had many of their own mounts, and Terrance was invited to assist Jacinta and Torga teach the half-Orcs the basics of riding.

Riding was not without its incidents; one time Ilgil was trying to mount the steed, she accidently pulled on its mane. The horse reared and knocked her off, and pranced away over the top of her – leaving a red hoof shaped indent on her buttocks. She was a little butt-hurt in both senses of the phrase, but otherwise unharmed.

All the students progressed well in riding, the worst injury a broken arm; nothing that a cleric could not mend. Ilgil made an effort to improve her riding, for the skill did lend itself quite well to exploring Arnrock...

**Budding Geologist**

Another three years passed at the monastery, the usual routine of work, play, study and night time escapades continuing as they always had. The children were well versed in Common now, and Torga had declared that stupidity would no longer be accepted as an excuse for making one's bed without proper hospital corners. Ilgil was now nineish-tenish, and had grown taller, stronger, and developed an interest in rocks.

What had started out as a mild fascination bloomed into an obsession. Ilgil loved rocks and gems, even the dull ones. The island's volcano was another great attraction; none of the children were permitted to climb its slopes or go anywhere near its cone, but Ilgil was dying to see what the crater looked like up close. Unable to satisfy the urge to explore the mountain, Ilgil often flipped through the pages of tomes containing pictures of volcanoes and lava, and read articles about particularly devastating eruptions where many people died horrible deaths – these kind of revelations only deepened her intense curiosity of the mysterious, fire-spewing peaks.

Everywhere she went Ilgil kept an eye out for stones, sometimes chipping a chunk off an outcrop. It didn't matter if it was dull and grey or pale with stripes, all rocks had a story of their own to tell. She kept her rocks in a potato sack under her bed, and pulled it out on rainy days to sort the rocks into piles.

Trying to encourage Ilgil to take interest in some form of study, the mentors came up with a way to bribe her.

"If you want more rocks," Torga had lectured her, "you have to answer a question correctly for each one you put into your sack from now on. I'll be counting them, so don't think you can slip a few in without being noticed."

The questions started out fairly simple and often required Ilgil to consult a book. There weren't many rules for the task except she wasn't allowed to ask anyone for an answer. Some of her questions included such things as "_what is a rock?", "what is a mineral?" and "how do you spell sedimentary?" _

Upon filling her first sack, Torga presented Ilgil with a most interesting rock; at first, she thought it was a frozen steak because it was an opaque reddish pink with a few marble-like white stripes, and did not have an obvious grain or crystal habit.

"Don't be dumb," Torga chided, "why would I give you a steak? It is a special rock. If you wish to start a second sack of rocks for your collection, you must write me an essay about this one, including what it is, how it formed, and at least one culturally significant fact about it."

"And a what?" Ilgil asked confused. She had no idea what a "culturally significant" fact was.

Torga sighed. "Just tell me something about the rock that isn't related to geology."

Ilgil glared accusingly at her mentor.

"It won't be hard to answer once you find the right tome."

It took almost a month, but Ilgil completed the essay – after two failed attempts of trying to identify the rock. Her third essay was successful; upon identifying it, the cultural significance was quite obvious – the stone was Jasper, a form of Chalcedony, whose impurities gave it its reddish pink colour. Ilgil was quite astounded to find out the Jasper she had been tasked to identify could have formed by the alteration of igneous rock.

"...the Sisters of St. Jaspers get their name from the rock which can be found on the island that the monastery was founded on. But don't ask me why, I don't know, you said I only needed one fact, and that's it."

Ilgil rolled up the parchment her essay was written on and handed it to Torga.

"Very good, Ilgil. Your reward, as promised, is permission to stuff another potato sack with rocks of your choice. Previous arrangements are still in place; but you can keep that red Jasper as the first rock for your next sack." Torga tucked the scroll away into a belt pouch. She inclined her head slightly and flared her nostrils in what Ilgil recognised to be her mentor's characteristic way of showing approval.

"And your speculations are correct; that piece was collected from a formation on this island. I collected it myself. Clerics associated with St. Jaspers often use it to make holy symbols."

"Where did you find it?" Ilgil asked eagerly. "I want to see the Jasper formation! It must look like a giant wall of steak."

Torga arched an eyebrow in amusement. "I will leave the pleasure of discovering that to you."

Ilgil did not push Torga for answers; experience told her she wouldn't get any. The Sisters had a terrible habit of being vague and mysterious.

Over the course of the year, Ilgil filled up her second sack with all kinds of rocks (some simply extra specimens of types she particularly liked) and was on to her third. But she had to give a great deal more time and effort to find the answers; on average, she was only getting one new rock a week; this extra study was done in her own time, between class and work.

**The Arrogant Boy**

Autumn of the following year was a season of change of the three dozen half-Orcs. It was the Year of the Maidens; Ilgil was age tenish-elevenish. St. Jaspers was to be host to a pregnant noble woman, who had paid to come and stay at the monastery for the final six Ten-Days of her term. The monastery had not offered this in-house service since the arrival of the half-Orcs six years previously, and their increased presence on the main land resulted in a reduced attendance of senior members on Arnrock. But now, with the children settled in and somewhat grown, it was time start opening the doors again. Providing in-house services to the wealthy was one of the fundamental ways in which the monastery raised funds to better serve those who could not afford treatment, food and shelter. It also meant some of the Sisters could return to the island, instead of being stationed at nobles' homes or temples for short stints.

The lady would be bringing along her three young children; two boys and a girl, leaving her husband on the main land. Also to accompany her was her private bodyguard. Ilgil had questioned why anyone would need bodyguards when paying to live at the monastery, and Biscuit's reply was a hushed "_because some people have more gold than brains"._

All the half-Orc students were very excited to hear this news, imagining another three Terrance's joining their ranks for sixty days. Torga had made it very clear that they were all to behave themselves, and to not go near the three human children unless they approached the students first. Indeed, despite the shortening of days and increasing cold, upon the arrival of the nobles the half-Orcs suddenly found themselves so preoccupied with outdoor activities by their mentors that they hardly glimpsed the visitors at all. Their hopes of seeing the nobles at dinner time were not to be; it turned out the family had their meals taken to them in their private suite, far from curious half-Orc eyes.

A Ten-Day into the newcomers' stay and the noble children had only been glimpsed from afar or heard through a wall. While picking weeds from the garden beds beside their classroom one morning, Ilgil, Hoarshu and Orlen had snuck a peek through the window; they saw the backs of three young nobles, being tutored by Reiwin. Orlen believed the eldest looked to be about twelve, though Ilgil couldn't see them very well.

Hoarshu frowned, complaining that it was no wonder their lessons had been halved with the half-Elf tutor. Ilgil and Orlen didn't share this opinion; they quite liked the break from boring subjects.

"You're ripping up the thyme," Hoarshu whispered at her cohorts, notably irritable. "And that's wolf's bane. Don't you listen to anything our mentors tell us..."

"Not if I can help it," Orlen smirked.

Then, one night later in the second Ten-Day of the lady's stay, Ilgil was sneaking to the kitchens for a midnight snack – someone else had decided to raid the kitchens as well. She followed the noise to the larder, hanging back behind the door frame, cautiously sticking her head out to look inside. Thanks to her Orc blood she could see quite clearly in the dark; albeit in monochrome. She observed - with increasing disgust - a boy who, though not fat, didn't seem to have muscle tone, just soft curves, and neatly cropped dark, shoulder-length hair.

Ilgil was confused as to who this could possibly be; the vigour with which the boy was hoeing into the pot of honey (with very little dignity) suggested he was hungry and not very well mannered. Yet the only human children at the monastery were the nobles, and surely they would be well fed enough not to warrant stealing from the larders, and well mannered enough to at least use a spoon instead of a hand? Ilgil considered the possibilities; it had to be thief. A very ballsy thief, at that, to be sneaking into a monastery full of veteran fighting monks. Or perhaps it was a very stupid thief. Either way...

Stepping into the door frame, Ilgil announced her presence. "Put that pot down," she said firmly, glaring disapprovingly at the boy.

Fingers in his mouth, the boy froze; but he did not look frightened - Ilgil saw him glaring back at her, as he licked the honey off his hand. She waited for a reply.

"Oh? And what you gonna do about it?" He said snobbishly, raising an eyebrow, dipping his hand back into the pot. Ilgil made a mental note not to eat anything with honey in it until they got fresh supplies.

"Jam that pot on your head," she replied pointedly; the boy's haughty tone rubbed her hair the wrong way. Her upper lip lifted in a slight snarl.

The boy's sudden laughter startled her; it echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet kitchen. "Love to see you try! You'll get a proper flogging if you try that."

Thinking he was challenging her, Ilgil swiftly stepped forward, snatched the large ceramic jar out of his weak grip, upended it and rammed it onto the boy's head so that the lip of the jar was level with his mouth. She felt some satisfaction in stuffing his head into the remnants of the honey.

He gave an almighty scream. The boy began making a huge fuss, clutching the pot on his head and stumbling around like a drunk, tripping over sacks of potatoes and flour. Ilgil backed out of the larder and shut the door, locking it. She heard a door slam somewhere on the second floor followed by shouting; evidently some of the Sisters had been woken by the noise. At least Ilgil wouldn't have to go and find them; she could stay and make sure the thief didn't escape.

It was only when the boy in the larder began calling out for his mother did Ilgil feel that something was amiss. She heard rapid footsteps descending the staircase at the end of the hall. It didn't sound like the footsteps of any of the Sisters – the monks always had a certain composure about their movements, no matter the situation. These were far too hurried, loud and clumsy. Some instinct told Ilgil to get out of the kitchens before those hurrying feet reached the doorway.

Taking the advice of her instincts, she darted up onto the kitchen bench and unlatched the window. She slid it up, just as an angry, shrieking woman appeared at the kitchen door. Ilgil jumped through and landed in a bed of herbs. She scrambled to her feet and flew like a bat from hell across the quadrangle, headed for the archway that led to the outer grounds. She was halfway across the lawn when she heard the same shrieking now quite clearly - the woman was trying to peer through the window; unbeknownst to Ilgil, who dared not look back, a very round belly was getting in the woman's way, preventing her from sticking her head out the window to get a better look at Ilgil.

Heart pounding and adrenaline surging through her veins, Ilgil's legs carried her well beyond the grounds. She didn't know what to do - she feared going back, knowing she was undoubtedly in some kind of trouble. If it had been a Sister shrieking at her she probably would have stayed to cop the flak; but the presence of the strangers unsettled her.

After a few minutes she slowed her sprint down to a jog and strained to listen for signs of pursuit. She paused for a second behind a bush, hearing nothing but insects and the call of a bird and the blood pulsing in her ears. She continued jogging for another twenty minutes until she came to the bridge that crossed the stream; this was the route to Terrance's homestead. She decided to go there - at least she knew now where she was headed, rather than some random vector. Out of breath but still fearful, Ilgil pushed herself to walk briskly. Once across the bridge, she walked slightly off the path but followed it all the way to Terrance's.

Terrance woke to tapping at his window; he was extremely surprised to see Ilgil on the other side of the glass, looking quite anxious. He lifted the window and they had a chat; Ilgil explained what had happened, while Terrance listened intently. When she was finished, he looked quite ashen-faced.

"Didn't it cross your mind that boy might have been one of the nobles staying at the monastery?" He asked sounding very concerned. "And that woman was probably his mother, the pregnant woman."

Only silence followed; Ilgil slowly sank below the window sill as though in quicksand, her hands still gripping it tightly. She ended up on her knees and her forehead resting on the wooden wall.

_Clearly_, Terrance thought privately, _it hadn't crossed her mind_. This wasn't entirely true; she had considered the fact the only human children inside the monastery were the three nobles, but she had erroneously judged the boy she saw to be a thief. Now it seemed so obvious to her that Ilgil wondered why she hadn't realised the truth in the first place. She felt so stupid, Ilgil would have liked nothing better than to bury her head in the dirt and wait for the impending doom to blow over.

Reassuring her that it was not the end of the world (but discreetly suggesting it might be wise to hang low for a while) Terrance invited Ilgil inside his room, where she slept on the floor with a rug thrown over her as a blanket; there she fell into a troubled sleep filled with dreams of being chased and sentenced to death.

**Marathon Run**

Come morning, Ilgil's nerves had half recovered. She was currently trying to recover the other half. _Who gives a flying leap if that kid's a noble? _She thought bitterly as she lay curled up on the floor, _that honey's flamin' expensive stuff. He should buy his own; he can afford it, instead of filling his bottomless stomach with hard-earned food from our larder. Greedy, rude, prick of a boy. Like to teach him a few lessons in _half-Orc_ etiquette..._ Her confidence continued to return with every new insult she came up with.

When Terrance awoke, having farm work to attend to, he asked her what she was going to do. Not getting much of a reply (she hadn't given much thought on the subject), he suggested that perhaps, given the circumstances, she should stay and help on his parent's farm today and not go back to the monastery just yet.

So that Terrance's parents would not know she had stayed the night, Ilgil jumped back out the bedroom window and ran around to the front door, and knocked. When Terrance's mother answered and asked the young half-Orc what she was doing up so early, Ilgil lied through her teeth and said it was her day off, and that she had been permitted to help out on the farm.

"They want us out of the monastery; nobles visiting, and all that..." It wasn't an entirely false story.

Not one to turn down free slave labour, Terrance's mother welcomed her in. After Terrance ate his breakfast the pair went to work (Terrance slipped her an apple and a piece of bread so she wouldn't be too hungry) ploughing a field to prepare it for a crop of parsnips. Come lunchtime, Ilgil's stomach was chewing her spine. The ham, cheese and bread she had been given for lunch seemed only to make her hungrier, and vanished in the blink of the eye.

The pair were sitting at the simple wooden dining table when there was a loud rapping on the front door. Judging by the slight metallic clunking, Ilgil guessed the person bashing at the door was wearing gauntlets.

"Coming!" They heard Terrance's mother call out from the master bedroom where she was folding washing.

Ilgil and Terrance looked at each other; an image of the lady's bodyguard popped into her head... she wondered if he would execute her on the spot – she'd heard that nobles were very severe in their punishments, and upending a honey pot on the noble woman's young son wasn't exactly easy to explain. Without a word, Ilgil ran for the backdoor. She didn't want to hang around to find out who that gauntlet belonged to. And she certainly didn't want Terrance to get involved.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Ilgil found herself fleeing. This time, though, she had a pursuer. As she jumped over the stone wall into the paddock, the backdoor burst open. She fanged it across the half-ploughed field, dirt and pebbles flying in her wake. She had a head start of a hundred feet, but she wished it were a mile. Ilgil heard the person, a male, calling out after her; she couldn't make out what they were saying from the wind rushing in her ears and the thudding of her feet, and she had no intentions of stopping to ask.

Over the boundary wall and towards the forest she ran; she had explored this land before – the forest was a bit misleading, for it was not an expanse of trees that went on forever, but a thin, long strip. On the other side of the strip was an organ-pipe rock face. If she could not find somewhere to hide amongst the trees, she would attempt to climb the rock face – if the man pursuing her was wearing armour, Ilgil was sure he wouldn't have a hope in hell of following her.

The trees and bushes were rustling around her as she entered the forest, stirred by a stiff breeze. She couldn't hear well, but, she was relieved because it meant her pursuer would not be able to hear her well, either. Ilgil had gotten her hopes up; there didn't seem to be any good hiding spots – the fallen logs were neither hollow nor big enough to lie beside; the only bushes capable of concealing someone were covered in copious amounts of thorns, and there wasn't a badger hole in sight or a rocky outcrop that she could use as cover.

Starting to tire, Ilgil tripped on a tree root and landed clumsily on a rounded, mossy rock half-covered with leaf litter. It knocked the breath out of her. She rolled over, winded, struggling to force her lungs to suck in air. The ten seconds it took to be able to draw breath again had felt like an age; her momentary panic from suffocating over, Ilgil quickly inspected her abdomen which was throbbing with pain. The skin was grazed and a bruise was developing. The bleeding was superficial; it did sting, though. That was really going to hurt in the morning... sit-ups were going to be killer.

Her hunter crashing through the bushes was now clear; Ilgil scrambled to her feet again and ran, a little slower thanks to her protesting abdominal muscles, for the edge of the forest – it wasn't far now. She still had some hope of escaping.

Ilgil broke out of the forest onto rocky ground pocketed with tufts of grass. She headed up the slight slope to the base of the organ-pipe cliff face, and began to climb; under other circumstances, she would have liked to have stood back and admired the parallel hexagonal rock columns. For a cliff face, the climb was considerably easier than she'd expected; there were plenty of good hand and foot holds where broken-off columns provided a large flat surface. Woody vines growing down from the plateau above aided her greatly. If not for her now throbbing abdomen and the strong winds, she would have been able to scale the cliff faster. Ilgil was about thirty feet up when she heard someone holler up at her, their voice just audible over the winds.

"Oi! Cock 'ead!"

She looked over her shoulder to leer at the offender, angered by the brazen greeting. Loose strands of long black hair blew across her vision, but she saw someone through them that she had not expected – it was Ongrat, one of her fellow students. He had thick, dark, ginger hair pulled back into a short ponytail, greenish-brown skin and amber eyes. He had undoubtedly inherited those from his Orc father, though Ilgil was certain he must have his mother's hair.

Not a stranger to feeling confused, she stared down wordlessly at him. Her peer took the opportunity to shout up to her again.

"Get down here; we're supposed to be working at the farm today!"

"We... we are?" Ilgil shouted back bewildered.

"Gloria said you was stayin' overnight at Terrance's to get an early start. She sent me to help, said you was expectin' someone."

Ilgil was expecting _someone_ alright, but she hadn't dreamed it would be someone _friendly_. She began to climb back down. When she was twelve feet above the ground there was an odd sort of noise; she paused to listen. The sound had a slow, deep rhythm. Ilgil could also hear the faint swishing of trees in the distance.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Ongrat was frozen still. His torso was twisted to the side as he stared intently to his left, along the barren corridor that gently sloped and meandered towards the beach between the forest and the cliff. His alertness was unsettling to Ilgil - Ongrat was a couple of years older than she – he was almost thirteen - and was known for his guts. There wasn't much that made him flinch.

He turned to face Ilgil, a look of apprehension on his face. He seemed to make a decision of some sort in his mind, and ran to the base of the cliff. "Quick, get down, now! Jump!"

"What is it?" Ilgil asked, hesitant to leave the safety on the cliff.

"Just do it, or there won't be enough time to get inside the barrier," he growled in frustration.

The thumping was getting louder; in the distance, Ilgil could now see the tops of the trees quivering against the wind. Images from the books at the library flashed in her mind.

"Wow!" She exclaimed, "Is that a giant sloth maybe? They're supposed to be huge!"

Ongrat swore profusely, clenching and unclenching his fists, before replying. "It's a bloody great meat eatin' dinosaur! Not a tree-huggin' cuddly sloth!"

Realising by the look on Ilgil's face that she was now utterly petrified, he explained, "the barrier, it's an enchantment at the edge of the forest on the other side – it stops big creatures goin' near the farms and monastery."

Those were the magic words.

Ilgil jumped off the cliff, tumbling in a haphazard manner but leaving herself relatively unscathed besides a few extra scrapes. Ongrat helped pull her to her feet and the pair ran like hares back towards the forest. Ilgil's previous injury was being a bother; she found herself falling short of the older half-Orc who was unharmed. Ongrat grabbed her by the wrist and pulled Ilgil along as fast as her legs could manage without tripping.

No longer a dull thud, the footfalls of the dinosaur were more like mini earthquakes; whatever it was they were running from was no longer going for a Sunday stroll - it had very obviously began to run through the trees, as was evident by the sound of wildly rustling leaves and the groaning of tree trunks growing ever louder.

Terror and adrenaline drove them onwards, trying to outrun the unseen juggernaut. The trees were beginning to thin again as they crossed the thin forest strip. The dinosaur released a reverberating bellow as it crashed through the bushes about four hundred and fifty feet behind them and to their right. Ongrat glanced over his shoulder; he could see the erratic movement of shrubs and trees, and the briefest glimpse of a pair of muscular, greeny-grey scaly legs and underbelly.

Ilgil didn't notice much apart from the forest flashing past her face and what she guessed was a deer fleeing for its life; she was concentrating hard on remaining on her feet. If she tripped now, she'd be the ideal snack for the monstrous carnivore.

The pair were almost to the edge of the forest when they heard the dinosaur screech in rage or perhaps pain (or both), and the sound of splintering wood; the creature was stumbling, as though it had tripped on a log or boulder. The timing was almost perfect -the half-Orcs were both beginning to flag, their pace slowing and their throats feeling quite raw from breathing fast. Finally, they broke through the last of the trees and ran across a grassy expanse towards the farm. Upon reaching the stone wall which lined the partially tilled paddock, they inelegantly threw themselves over it and lay where they fell, panting for breath and feeling considerably safer.

When Ilgil and Ongrat heard the predator advancing again, they got up on their knees and peeked over the wall. For the first time, both of them got a proper look at the dinosaur; it was limping slightly as it walked out of the forest and came to a halt in the grass. Ilgil could hardly believe her eyes at the enormity of the creature. It was bipedal, standing almost as high as the trees themselves, and had a long crocodilian snout filled with mean looking fangs. It had quite sturdy looking forearms, large muscular hind legs, and a long, sweeping tail. The most unusual feature was the large mustard yellow sail on its back.

Not wanting to be seen, Ilgil and Ongrat sat down and pressed themselves against the rock wall, keeping their heads low.

"Spinosaurus," Ongrat whispered. "Seen somethin' about them in a book at the library."

"How do you know the barrier works?" Ilgil asked, hardly daring to imagine what the creature's massive jaws would do to them.

"Terrance and his family have lived here for years, haven't they?" he replied.

Ilgil relaxed slightly. "Point taken."

The spinosaurus stopped and sniffed the air; it walked forward another couple of paces, and as though deciding it had better things to do, turned around and tromped away down the length of the forest. Ilgil and Ongrat looked over the wall again when they heard it retreating.

"Another danger of wandering too far," Ongrat spoke; though Ilgil had a hunch he was speaking more to himself than to her.

**Narviok's Morality**

In the days following, Ilgil had been taken on a walk with Narviok in the nearby orchards. Ilgil half expected some kind of corporal punishment, despite never having been hit in some manner very often. The only reason she expected such punishment now was because she had heard what the noble woman was demanding of the monks: to "flay the hide of the insolent child whom assaulted my son". Never mind he was blatantly thieving from the larder or an unpleasant prat.

Instead, Ilgil was given a very thorough talking to. She had never had such an in-depth and philosophical discussion with anyone, but Narviok had explained some very fundamental aspects of their faith that Ilgil had no choice but to patiently listen to.

"Ilmatari do not harm children, no matter whom they might be. Neither do we harm young animals." Narviok spoke in a level voice, explaining why the Sisters would not comply with the noble woman's request. "A child's upbringing should not be full of misery."

Ilgil recalled several times when Torga had hit her; usually no more than a clip over the ear or, in extreme cases, a wallop on the bottom.

"Is Torga not Ilmatari, then?" she asked, not out of disrespect for her half-Orc mentor but out of confusion. Torga's actions seemed to contradict the expectations of an Ilmatari.

"Well," Narviok had smiled, "Some of us interpret the doctrines in different ways. Torga is not cruel at heart – she cares deeply for you all. Mark my words; you will be able to identify malicious physical inflictions when you are one day exposed to such violence. Such a day is inevitable in this world, unfortunately – and that is why we Ilmatari exist. To reduce the suffering of those who are unfortunate enough to experience malevolence.

"There are children, Ilgil, who grow up knowing nothing but continual pain and emotional distress – emotional suffering is, in my opinion, more prolific and much harder to ease than physical pain. There are not many potions or spells which can mend the mind and heart as easily as they can a broken leg. That is why, for instance, so many of you were left without mothers. Many of them will even now still be suffering deep within... they will quite likely be affected for the rest of their lives... I regret we can't undo their mental turmoil, we could only ease it. But I am glad we gave them their rightful freedom."

Leaves crunched beneath their feet as the pair walked among the fruit trees. Ilgil did not reply; she didn't know what to say. Eventually Narviok continued her monologue.

"Ilgil, please do not think those women did not care for you and your peers; they chose what path they felt was best for you all. The monastery was, and still is, a lifeline to those mothers who would otherwise have been unable to feed their children and keep you safe until your adulthood. By leaving you and the others here, they gave you what they decided was the best start in life. Unfortunately, some mothers were unsure who their children even were. It was hard on everyone, but the brutal cycle of slavery had to be stopped. Another thing you should keep in mind, Ilgil: we are not pacifists. Members of our faith will retaliate to threats in a severe manner should means to a peaceful outcome fail. There are, if you recall your history lessons very well, a group within the church who actively seek out those who are cruel and punish them accordingly. Even Ilmatari will fight fire with fire. "

It was deep stuff for a tenish-elevish year old. Ilgil contemplated Narviok's speech; it was the first time in a very long time any of the mentors had spoken so directly about the mothers of the children. Narviok had spoken in Orcish, which Ilgil assumed was so that she understood Narviok as best as possible. Ilgil trusted her mentors and did not question Narviok's justification; it sounded like a noble cause. And it sounded truthful.

_A much truer meaning of the word "noble", _Ilgil thought. _And I have been happy here. Or at least I'm not sad. I think that's the same thing._

Assured she would not have her back whipped raw or her bottom caned to the point she wouldn't be able to sit down for a month, Ilgil was unfazed about being assigned more chores for a week – this was, Narviok explained, a form of punishment to "enrich the soul". To her relief, the Sisters denied knowing the identity of the child who had upended the honey pot on the noble's son, sheltering Ilgil from being targeted. This protection did not stop her feeling a little resentful for being punished for teaching that git of a boy a lesson – he deserved every bit of what she gave him.

Ilgil went to Serpentine Farm everyday for a Ten-Day (Narviok said going to Periwinkle Farm, run by Terrance's family, was not a punishment) and worked from dawn til dusk. Ilgil was tired out by the end of each day, sporting new bruises and scratches courtesy of the chickens; and by the end of it all, she was quite exhausted.

**Ilgil's Honour**

In the fourth Ten-Day of the lady's stay, Narviok had announced that the time had come for the half-Orcs to begin visiting the mainland. They were to go in small groups as crew aboard the monastery's cargo ship, the _Free Winds_, to take out goods to be sold and bring back fresh supplies. Each trip would take about nine days. Ilgil was a bit sulky – Hoarshu was on the first crew out and Ilgil hadn't yet been informed which trip she would be on. Ilgil didn't look forward to visiting the mainland as much knowing she wouldn't have her best friend with her.

Hoarshu had boarded the boat the previous day; Ilgil had waved her off, trying to appear happy in an attempt not to spoil the experience for her friend. Without Hoarshu to hang around with as usual, Ilgil was left to her own devices. It had stormed the night before (Ilgil had been assured that her friends on the _Free Winds_ were perfectly safe), so she decided to go beach combing in the afternoon; it was too cold and windy to go swimming.

On her way down the dirt road which led to the shoreline, Ilgil heard a familiar cocky voice echoing from somewhere ahead. As the beach came into view, so did three human children.

_It's them nobles,_ Ilgil thought irritably, _why do they have to be here? They've practically got the entire monastery to themselves. Stupid gits should be in the library ruining our books or something._

Ilgil wasn't very fond of the visitors.

She was curious nonetheless about what she witnessed while studying the noble children from afar; it sounded like one of them was being rather rude. The taller of the two boys pushed the other over, while their sister stood to the side looking as shocked as Ilgil felt, but too timid to interrupt. Ilgil could tell just by looking that this was not play fighting – which made it all the more strange. Weren't they brothers? She didn't expect brothers to fight like this.

She continued to stand afar until the taller boy – who, now Ilgil realised, was the same boy from the larder that night a twenty days or so previously – picked up a piece of drift wood. She didn't need to see the sister's adverse reaction to know what the boy intended to do with the lump of wood.

Forgetting any bias she had towards the nobles, Ilgil ran down the beach to aid the shorter boy. She'd never forgive herself if she stood by and watched someone get beaten up. The sister, a girl with long blonde hair pulled back in a loose plait, was trying to wrestle the wood from her older brother's hands, but with no success; she was far too feeble. The youngest boy got to his feet again, but his brother pushed him back down after fobbing off the girl. Ilgil arrived on the scene and put herself between the two brothers; she was nose-to-nose with the eldest, who scowled at her.

"Get out of the way," he ordered. "Or I'll flog you, too!"

"Love to see you try," Ilgil said boldly, feeling it was too good a chance to miss quoting the boy's own words back to him. She couldn't help but grin a little.

He didn't seem to register the familiarity of the phrase, but he did understand the gravity of the words coming from a monastery raised half-Orc. He stepped back a couple of paces to look her up and down.

"You might be strong, but I bet you're stupid. Mother says all half-Orcs are thick. Couldn't tie their own bootlaces if their lives depended on it. Must be why they give you those silly looking shoes to wear."

Ilgil knew the boy was saying those things to deliberately anger her, but it didn't stop her from feeling any less offended. She would have loved to have punched him on his perfect little nose and give it a nice, permanent kink. _These are _monk_ shoes I'm wearing – _Ilgil thought to herself_ -not fancy getups to prance around a mansion in. Of course they didn't have shoe laces; that's not practical._

"I'm strong _and_ smart." Ilgil replied defiantly. It was a bit of a lie... she had a feeling the noble children were indeed more intelligent than herself – they had personal tutors, and probably paid more attention to them, too. But there was no way on god's green earth she'd give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

The boy laughed in the same haughty manner as in the larder all those nights ago. "As if! Prove it, then. We'll do a challenge – to see who's got more brains."

Challenges were appealing to Ilgil, although most of the challenges she'd participated in were tests of strength or dares. She accepted anyway. "Alright, then."

"Good – if you lose, I get to flog Bryanth without you sticking your fat green nose in." The boy had his own nose stuck into the air as he declared the conditions. "And if you win, I'll give you my pocket watch."

Ilgil stared at him. What the abyss was a pocket watch?

Her unspoken question was answered when the boy drew out a small, flat, round, silver trinket attached to a chain from his coat. "It's not the most valuable thing I have," he said arrogantly, "But I imagine it's worth more than anything you'll ever own."

"I don't care about that thing," Ilgil snapped, her patience worn precariously thin. "I just want to prove you wrong. Half-Orcs aren't stupid – my friend is going to be a Cleric," she was referring to Hoarshu, who recently expressed interest in becoming a member of the clergy. The mentors had praised her friend, saying Hoarshu was a particularly bright student who had potential to learn the fine art of magic.

After half an hour, neither child agreed upon a suitable challenge. Ilgil refused the boy's ideas, even she was intelligent enough to realise they were all to his advantage. And Ilgil's ideas were all fair, meaning actual effort would have been required to win, so the boy rejected them. The two siblings edged away to let the two argue in peace.

_I just wish I could teach this brat a lesson! Maybe losing his pocket-watsit would pull his head out of his butt_. Ilgil seethed at the idea of losing – the reputation of her fellow students was on the line. And the younger boy would get hurt if she lost – she didn't like the idea of going back on an agreement, but she really did not want Bryanth getting beaten with a piece of drift wood.

She had the suspicion the eldest boy was unlikely to give her the shiny silver thing if she won, anyway. To him, she concluded it was just a contest to try and deface her brethren; Ilgil doubted it had anything to do with honour for the boy.

"Just agree to something!" The boy snapped impatiently, interrupting Ilgil's contemplation. "You're just chicken, that's what it is. Because you know you really _are_ too dumb to be able to beat me at anything."

A memory from several years ago came to her mind; yes... it could almost work... no, it was bound to work. The boy would think she was so stupid he'd accept the challenge, thinking there was no way she could win. It was perfect.

"How about we make a bet instead?" she spoke, trying not to sound over confident.

"And what bet might that be, then half-Orc?"

"I bet you I can make a boat out of stone that floats without using magic. If I win, you give that silver thing to your brother to keep, and you have to swear you'll never lay a finger on him, or your sister, ever again."

She had made a correct assumption. The boy laughed so hard tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. He agreed.

"I'll give you ten days," he replied after regaining composure.

"No, I need two Ten-Days – I work, unlike you. That'll bring it to the end of your stay."

The boy narrowed his eyes, unsure if this was a trick. After thinking about it for a few seconds he relented. "Fine; and when you lose, I'll flog Bryanth in the quadrangle for all your stupid friends to see."

**Orcish Roots**

The next day Ongrat sat beside Ilgil at lunch; she tried not to look guilty. If any of the mentors got wind of her bet she doubted they'd be very happy.

"Saw you talkin' to that noble boy at the beach yesterday," he said in a low casual voice so no one could over hear him. Then, stifling a laugh he asked, "what's that I heard about you making a stone boat huh?"

"Shut your gob," Ilgil hissed quietly, stuffing a piece of roasted potato in her mouth. "Stones _can_ float. An' what were you doing spying on me? Nice of you to back me up, instead of eaves dropping." She glared at him accusingly out of the corner of her eye.

Ongrat looked a little shifty. He muttered something about being busy. Ilgil decided to fill him in on the bet, in hopes he might be able to help her. She also explained about the floating rocks.

"...three years ago, I found this weird rock – it felt so light, I thought I must have grown really strong –shut up, I was sevenish – and I carried the pumpkin sized boulder to Torga, to show her how much I'd improved. She told me I had not grown epically strong, but that in fact, the rock was very light. She proved it by putting the small boulder in the bath water, where it floated like a cork."

Ongrat looked sceptically at her.

"I kept a piece if you don't believe me." Ilgil added defensively. "It's called pumice – it's an igneous rock, a product of the very volcano that overshadows this monastery."

Ilgil expected Ongrat to torment her; instead he seemed quite interested in seeing the specimen. "Come on, if we hurry up, I can show you before we go back to class."

They shovelled the rest of their meals down and hurried to the girl's dormitory. Ilgil dragged out the three sacks of rocks, and sifted through the contents. Eventually she found what she was looking for; a fist-sized pale grey foam-textured rock. She handed it to Ongrat, who looked at in amazement.

"That really_ could_ float; it is as light as wood," he said astonished. He studied the pumice before handing it back. "Is there more of it?" Ongrat asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, I believe so. Though... it may require... a certain amount of covertness to acquire."

"Can you elaborate on that, perhaps?" Ongrat asked, lowering his voice to a whisper and glancing furtively at the door and windows to make sure they were not being observed.

"Hang back at the library with me after class," Ilgil replied. "It's easier to show you."

That afternoon in class, Ilgil sat with Ongrat and his small cohort, consisting of two of the eldest boys in the three dozen students. Today it seemed they were finally to be making up for their lack of lessons with Reiwin; the half-Orcs had been in the library all day, and currently their mentor was talking about the different factions within the Ilmatari church. It was more interesting than learning the history of some particularly well renowned noble families, but with the anticipation of their secretive business, time was passing painfully slow; Ilgil wished lessons would hurry up and end for the day. Ongrat appeared to feel the same; he sighed impatiently from time to time, and shifted restlessly on the bench seat as if he had piles.

Finally, at four o'clock, Reiwin clapped the book she was holding closed. "You are free agents until dinner time, my dears," She said, dismissing them.

Ilgil headed for the book shelves and pulled down a brown leather-bound volume. She stopped at the end of the book shelf when she saw Ongrat was standing behind the desks with the two older boys, chatting. She waited quietly, feeling a little awkward. It didn't sound like the kind of conversation you'd merrily stroll up and join in on.

"Are they ever going to mention the Orcish pantheon?" Sardu, a very muscular stocky boy with long black hair spoke irritably. "All we ever hear about are Human gods, and Elven gods – why the smoking-hell-cat would we want to hear about _Elven_ gods?"

"You'd think," Ongrat replied sounding rather cynical, "That they don't want us to know own heritage."

Uurgrin, the third boy, looked more Orcish than either of his chums; He was bald, having kept his head shaved, and his tusks were enormous. Ilgil knew to respect him, for he was one of the few half-Orcs who could beat her at an arm wrestle. Sometimes Ilgil wondered if he wasn't actually full Orc, mistakenly taken with the others. She wasn't surprised to hear his opinion.

"No," he spoke deeply, "I tell you this: they want to erase our heritage. Make pretend like we are full Human. They don't know what I remember of my Clan. My people."

Ilgil nearly died of fright when Uurgrin's amber eyes suddenly shifted onto her. He lifted a hand and gestured for her to come forward. "Come here, sister," he said.

Ongrat started to protest about something, but Uurgrin silenced him. "No, she needs to know. She ought to know. Every one of us has a right to know."

Feeling more like she was gravitationally attracted to the bookshelves, she found it difficult to walk out of their shelter towards the three boys.

"Eaves dropping, were we?" Ongrat said to her, with a distinct tone of frostiness. "Guess that makes us even."

"No, it doesn't," Ilgil replied tartly. "You were speaking so loud, even the dead could hear you._ I_ didn't have to make an _effort_ to hear what was said." She eye-balled Ongrat daring him to say otherwise. She knew he'd know she was talking about yesterday at the beach.

Uurgrin diverted Ilgil's attention. "See," he said to his two friends, "It's like I say all the time. We reflect our Orc heritage, even in our daily lives. Ilgil here is stronger than any Human girl of the same age. And she has the face of her father."

Ilgil didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. She glared at Uurgrin, making eye contact and maintaining it.

"Another point proven," Uurgrin continued; was that sympathy she saw in his eyes? "Sister Ilgil has been taught to believe her strength is weird, and her face is ugly. That is a Human and Elven perspective. In Orc clans, strength is beauty, and beauty has nothing to do with faces. Beauty has very different meaning to Orcs than to other races."

Ilgil's cheeks darkened; she was blushing profusely. She made a mental note to do more push-ups every morning.

Ongrat cleared his throat rather loudly. "If you don't mind, Uurgrin..."

Sardu and Uurgrin said farewell and left to go outside to practice combat training. Ongrat turned to Ilgil, suddenly facing a venomous glare.

"Speak to me in that tone again," she hissed like an angry lizard, "And you'll learn all about _Orcish beauty_." She slammed the tome on the desk making Ongrat flinch involuntarily.

Ilgil sat down and Ongrat silently joined her. He could almost feel the cold aura sweeping off her like winds blowing down from snowy peaks.

"I think," he spoke gingerly, breaking the heavy silence, "you are forgetting, it is_ I_ helping you. I don't _have_ to be here."

"Then go away," Ilgil replied curtly, flipping through the pages now. She didn't bother to look up. "I can do this by myself. I climbed onto the monastery roof before I could speak common properly, I'm sure I can manage acquiring a few slabs of pumice. And Gloria's on the _Free Winds_, so I won't have to worry about being found out as easily."

Ongrat didn't reply; but neither did he leave. He just stretched out across the desk, putting his cheek on the lacquered wood, and sighed. For ten minutes they sat without talking; the occasional page turning over sounded very loud.

"Are you... going to show this thing you wanted to show me?" Ongrat asked tentatively.

"Yes," Ilgil replied more civilly. "Just give me a few more minutes. I'm reading something. I've only ever skimmed this part of the book before."

Five minutes later, Ilgil tapped Ongrat on the shoulder. He straightened up, and she slid the tome sideways so it was between them. There was a map of the island that took up two pages; Ilgil pointed to the eastern half. "This, if I am not mistaken, is where the larger deposits of pumice can be found. It is the more barren half of Arnrock, covered in some of the more recent lava flows. There should still be pumice that is yet to be washed away."

"Excellent," Ongrat nodded, apparently very pleased with this piece of information.

As though having been waiting for some kind of signal, he immediately began divulging a pre-conspired plan.

"Now, I've thought about this before – it'll probably take a good eight hours on horse-back to get to the east shore. I'm glad it's the south-east and not the north-east, or we'd be looking at about sixteen hours one way – there aren't many roads to the north-east shores. Anyway... the south-east shore it is, so, that means we need a minimum of an entire day to get there and back. And that's assuming we find what we need right away."

"If you decide to continue helping me with this," Ilgil looked at Ongrat worriedly, no longer cold towards him, "you put your heart and soul into it for our fellows. It was a bit dumb of me, I know, to take on this bet, but I feel it is mandatory to win, for the sake of our friends and family. That boy will be taught that half-Orcs are not inherently stupid; and, hopefully, it will be a start to forging a better name for others of our kind."

"You sound like one of the mentors," he joked. He held out his hand. "But okay. I pumice I'll do my best to help you."

Ilgil shook his hand, grinning at the corny joke. "Thanks."

**Camp Out**

With less than seven days before Gloria's return, Ilgil and Ongrat set about planning the expedition with haste. Ilgil had spoken to Terrance, who would accompany them, and provide an alibi. The plan was to leave from Periwinkle farm after work, under the pretence of spending the night, the next day and the next night camping with Terrance on the beach. Terrance's parents had already given their approval to the request, and Ilgil and Ongrat had persuaded their mentors to give them permission to spend two nights away from the monastery.

Over the days preceding the journey, Ongrat and Ilgil smuggled out tools they thought they might need; Ilgil had very reluctantly let Ongrat decimate her pumice lump.

"We don't know what is best to use on pumice," he'd argued, "how do we know what tools to use unless we test 'em? We'd be up shit creek without a paddle if our saws blunted after two strokes, and we needed to cut a boulder of pumice up for the wagon or somethin'."

The pair had also spent some time in the library, sifting through local maps and anything they could find out about the enchantments. Ongrat plotted a course that would keep them out of dinosaur territory, and drew a map. He had assured Ilgil that he could lead them to the other side of the island; Ilgil hoped he wasn't fluffing his own feathers, because she wasn't very good at following maps, and if they got lost it would be needless to say things would go pear shaped very quickly.

On the morning of the expedition, Ilgil and Ongrat rode their monastery horses to Periwinkle farm; Ongrat was going to work with Ilgil for the day in the chicken barn. She had warned him about the roosters, but Ongrat didn't heed her. By the end of the day the ginger haired half-Orc was thoroughly battered; Ilgil, on the other hand, only had a few scratches.

"I've learnt to dodge them," she said, smiling with pride. "And I slapped the boss rooster so hard one day, his head bounced off the ground. Never had much trouble from him since."

At dusk, they met Terrance; their human friend had brought along a strong looking horse with cloven hooves pulling a small hooded wagon. Together the three rode to the hidden cache of borrowed tools - a rocky overhang covered by a curtain of vines.

After loading the wagon, they were on their way; Ongrat took the lead, and Ilgil rode beside Terrance who sat on the wagon handling the reins. The three ate as they rode, having packed enough food for two days.

Everyone was quite excited at first, chatting and joking as they followed a well used dirt road eastward. After four hours of riding, now in total darkness, they were tired and hardly spoke a word to one another. Bladders requiring emptying, they stopped for a break on the side of the road (which was looking less well kempt) taking turns to water the bushes. Once relieved they ate dinner (ham, cheese and bread) by the light of Terrance's oil lamp. Slightly rejuvenated, they gave the horses a drink from a natural spring and were on their way once again.

Two hours passed; the rugged dirt path they had been following was now non-existent. They found themselves travelling through a grassy corridor that carved its way through the forest. Weary, they stopped in the middle of the corridor, removed the harness from Terrance's horse and then tethered all three of their steeds to the wagon with a length of rope. They chocked the wagon's wheels with rocks and wood, and made space inside the wagon for sleeping. It was a bit uncomfortable, but with their blankets they did not go cold.

**A Magnificent Specimen**

The three had a cold breakfast and let the horses graze before setting off the next morning. Ilgil sniffed her armpits; she _badly_ wanted a bath – she hated smelling of body odour and farm animals.

"If we have time, after collecting the load, we're going for a swim at one of the beaches." She declared.

"It's a bit cold, don't you think, to be swimming?" Ongrat replied.

"I'll cope."

By mid morning, they had exited the forest and were travelling across grassy plains. The slopes of the volcano rose up on their left, and the shores were on their right. Ongrat consulted the map.

"We should be close, just another few miles," he said, folding the parchment up and tucking into his pant pocket.

The further they travelled, the more dead the landscape looked. Even the grass was struggling to grow. Around midday, they spotted an expanse of black, knobbly looking rock.

"A cooled lava flow," Ilgil explained, getting off her horse and taking a closer inspection. She tried not to look excited.

Grabbing a pickaxe, she chipped a few pieces off. "Don't ever walk across this kind of rock without thick soled boots on. This lava was very felsic –" she saw the blank expression on Ongrat's face "-that means this lava was thick, not runny – and it's crumbled texture is extremely sharp. You'll cut your feet open on this. You wouldn't want to trip over on it, either... it's be like falling on oysters."

"I know you like rocks, but we don't have all day." Ongrat tried to be as polite as possible. "You can go nuts after we get the pommel."

"_Pumice_," Ilgil corrected. She packed her samples into the saddlebag. "I know, I know. Now then. To find the pumice, let's go up the slope. I'm hoping that we'll find larger blobs closer to the old crater."

Deciding it might slow them down considerably during their search, they agreed to leave the wagon behind, and come back for it once they'd found a suitably sized pumice deposit. After disengaging the wagon, Terrance saddled up his horse while Ilgil and Ongrat gathered the large crow bar and few other tools they could carry on the horses. Everything prepared, the three were on their way, Ilgil now in the lead. She followed the old lava flow uphill.

The hillside was eerie. It was devoid of animals – they couldn't even see any birds in the sky, or hear insect chatter. It was essentially a wasteland; even the sparse grass looked like it had seen better seasons.

Every now and then, Ongrat and Terrance would stop while Ilgil explored the countryside more thoroughly; she never went out of sight for long, and always was in earshot. On her fourth scout out, she came back with a melon-sized lump of pumice. She declared that after lunch, they ought to head away from the lava flow. "I hope we find something bigger soon..."

Ongrat's sceptical glare flicked from the plain-looking, coarse, grey rock lump she was holding to Ilgil herself.

"Sure that's the best way to find what we're looking for?" He asked sounding doubtful. "We haven't got all week..."

"I didn't see you spending _hours_ scouring through geology books," Ilgil replied defensively, "I'm going by what the books said." She resisted the urge to throw her lovely new pumice football at his face.

_I suppose he's as worried as I am about the bet,_ she thought, now feeling guilty for even considering caving in his face. _He understands this bet is a stand against discrimination. He worked hard to get us this far, in his own way._

At around one o'clock, the wind had grown from a breeze to a buffeting wind. A sulphurous smell wafted on the currents from the north-east, making for an unpleasant journey. Ilgil suppressed a shudder – their mentors had said sulphur was a smell often associated with demons, and to beware anyone or anything that had the lingering scent about them. Naturally occurring volcanic activity was also a source of sulphurous gas, though Ilgil wasn't sure if this was also linked with the presence of demons. She hoped not. She hadn't read much on the subject.

Ongrat and Terrance had been left alone again while Ilgil went off on another scout for pumice. She returned with very good news. Less than a quarter mile away, was a large sheet of grey stone, the same as her pumice sample.

She led them to the place, cautioning them to be very wary of the crack in the ground. Very slight amounts of steam issued from it.

"I dunno much about fissures," she said, "but I think they can erupt. Just be careful; we don't want to find ourselves turned into steamed dumplings."

Staying well away from the steaming crack, they sized up the pumice. It was edged with tufts of grass, indicative of having been there for several years. It covered an area about the size of a small house, and was surrounded by smaller (but still quite large) blobs. Ilgil guessed it was approximately two to three feet thick in the centre, and one foot at the edge.

Terrance rode off to get the wagon, while Ilgil and Ongrat stayed to collect some of the smaller pieces, and cleared around the main piece with pickaxes. After nearly an hour, they had finished the preparations. They took ten minutes to have a break before starting the cutting.

Ongrat threw fist-sized pumice chunks into the vent, clearly very bored; he knew Ilgil wasn't tired, she'd just insisted on the short break to give herself a chance to investigate the pumice more closely. She was all over the grey block like a bad rash, examining it and muttering to herself about the "magnificent specimen".

"If you love it so much, you should take it to the monastery and wed it," Ongrat teased her, throwing another lump at the vent.

"Oh yes, it'd be the perfect husband," Ilgil replied with mock innocence, "it doesn't make a huge mess, it won't tell me what clothes I should wear and it won't demand to be fed three square meals a day."

Ongrat looked over his shoulder at Ilgil. "I think most plates are round."

She sat up and rolled her eyes. "Don't be a dumbass."

Reluctantly, Ilgil climbed back down from the rock, and the pair got to work breaking up the pumice for transport.

Ongrat took it upon himself to explain what they were going to do.

"We'll use the long crow bar to lever it off the ground. We'll cut a mark along the middle with the chisels, so hopefully we can force it to break along there. Then, we'll repeat the process and get it into quarters. After that, Terrance should be here, so we can use the logging saws that are on the wagon to cut the pieces down so they fit. We can load any smaller pieces on afterwards."

Ilgil hunted out a suitable hard stone to use as the fulcrum for the crow bar. Lifting the pumice slab off the ground proved more difficult than anticipated; they had to work their way around the edge, shoving the crow bar underneath and giving in a couple of rough jolts to loosen it every couple of feet, before finally being able to lever it off the dirt properly. Ilgil held the bar firmly, while Ongrat applied liberal amounts of mallet along the mark they'd cut in the pumice. Ilgil winced every time the rock was struck; she envisaged it being pulverised into pixie dust.

Eventually, she heard it crack and felt the mass shift as it split in two. The surface was quite battered, but it was not a pile of debris as Ilgil had feared.

"It only gets easier from here," Ongrat said proudly, puffing his chest up slightly, dripping with sweat from the exertion. Ilgil made a mental note to remind him to take a bath as soon as physically possible.

Halfway through splitting the next piece, Terrance arrived with the wagon. With his help, they had very quickly broken the pumice into quarters. By the time the three had cut up and loaded all the pumice the wagon could carry, the sun was setting. They sat and ate a well earned meal and rested, relieved the hard yards were over. They discussed the return journey.

"I was thinking," Ilgil spoke thoughtfully, sipping from her water skin. "That wagon's not gonna move terribly fast loaded, is it?"

Terrance nodded, but he didn't look worried. "Yeah; but we can still get home by early morning. We could tether your two horses to the back of the wagon, and while one person takes the reins the other two sleep in the back with the pumice. If we rotate drivers, we don't need to stop."

Finishing supper, the half-Orcs mounted the steeds and escorted Terrance as he nursed the wagon gingerly down the barren hillside. Ilgil was happy to arrive back on the plains; there had been a couple of hair-raising instances when she though the wagon was going to tip over.

"I'll continue to drive 'til we get into the forest," Terrance told them at the bottom, while he refilled his oil lantern. He was the most experienced with driving wagons and wanted to make sure they were on a path of some description before anyone else took the reins. "You two get some sleep for the last leg. It's the only sleep we'll get tonight."

Ilgil and Ongrat tethered their horses to the rear of the wagon and unrolled their bedrolls on top of the pumice. Under the curved canvas canopy, it was like being in a mobile tent. Ilgil was relieved to be wrapped up in warm furs; she was in a rather cosy pozzie between the wall and an angled piece of pumice. Ongrat was a couple of feet away, hidden on the other side of the rock.

**Dreams**

Within minutes of uttering a weary goodnight to one another, Ilgil fell asleep. Her surface thoughts of the day's activities and interactions warped into a surreal scene of a re-enactment of their mountain trek, only things were a little different. It was night time, and the black solidified lava flow glowed like hot coals, and the now mobile river of molten rock flowed slowly down the mountain in continuous, steady stream.

As she had done during the day, Ilgil followed the river of rock uphill; she was fascinated, yet very wary, of the incredibly hot material. The mountainside was strewn with ash and rock, though she could see nothing but blackness above her – not even a star, nor the silhouette of an ash cloud could be seen. It was like looking into an abyss.

The mountain rumbled ominously, sounding like pained moans, sending tremors through the ground. Her horse bucked in fright, causing her to tumble off; Ilgil landed on her back in the thick blanket of ash. Coughing, she got to her feet; her steed had galloped into the darkness, leaving her all alone. Despite the circumstances she was not afraid, even as the ground reverberated again beneath her feet and she heard the mountain moan in pain again.

Ilgil trudged across the mountainside, not entirely sure what she was searching for, though she had the sense that she was seeking out something. Her eyes scoured the landscape but it was all much the same now: ash strewn and dead looking – the lava flow was well behind her and out of sight. Without realising it until she was almost upon it, she came upon a familiar landmark; the steam fissure. Only, the fissure was not steaming. Curious, she walked up to it to take a closer look. It was a dozen feet long and about three feet wide in the middle. The rocky edges were puckered like a deep cut of the flesh, and inside was darkness.

The ground trembled so violently Ilgil fell onto her bottom; she saw a dazzling carpet of orange arching through the abyss above, splitting into smaller particles as it fell towards the ground, molten rock about to rain down upon her. No other cover available she rolled forward and let herself fall into the fissure. She didn't feel rock walls scraping her; on the contrary she rotated in the air as she fell through what felt like completely open space. Ilgil landed on her hands and toes, her limbs buckling beneath her so she was sprawled on a cold, solid surface. She did not feel as though she had broken anything, but she found herself unable to move.

**Cave Mother**

As Ilgil lay still in the darkness, a husky female voice spoke, echoing through the cavern.

"Six years ago, my children cried out to me – for they had been plundered." The female voice started slowly, as if reading a story from a book. "But it was not gold these plunderers took... but the fruits of their tribes. A very special crop it was, nourished and watered by the sweat and blood of my children. The crop was not yet ready for harvest; the fruits were picked while still green. They were not fully developed when the pillagers stripped the trees."

Ilgil had never heard such a story before; and the Sisters had told her many as she grew up. Interested, she continued to listen in silence to the woman she could not see.

"They took these green fruits far away from my children and painted them new colours, covering up the green. They made pears look like apples, and apples look like oranges. Fed on lies, the fruits continued to grow away from their trees – only vaguely aware of their true origins."

A second person spoke, conversing with the first; Ilgil would have jumped out of her skin in surprise if she wasn't mysteriously paralysed. The deep, growling male spoke respectfully, but with an inquisitive tone.

"I clearly recall de events you speak of, Cave Mother... fergive my ignorance, but I don't see how they c'n help now. I'm lost, and they're gone. Only you c'n help me now... you are the only one who has not abandoned me."

Suddenly very short of patience, the husky woman spat and snarled at her company. "Shut up and listen, then! I do not waste words, Loglurn." Her words echoed off the cavern walls ominously. "And don't forget it is you who must help the clan! I do not offer my assistance because I pity you. I offer my assistance so you can prune the dead branches, and salvage the clan before it dies."

The male rapidly uttered apologies in a fearful quivering voice, until the woman spoke again, and he fell silent. Ilgil couldn't hear what was being said; the husky voice was barely above a whisper. She heard the intake of breath and a grateful sigh from the man, and then quite suddenly, Ilgil could hear the woman's voice very close behind her, as though the woman was standing behind her.

"I am the Cave Mother, mother of all the tribes – and if you seek to destroy these families, you will suffer my wrath. On the other hand... if you aid my children, I will not forget your roots."

"Who are your children?" Ilgil automatically asked. "I've never been off this island; I don't know many people..."

"Of course you have!" The woman snapped back.

"Oi! Getup, we got rocks to move. Ouch! Whatcha punch me for?"

Ilgil's eyes snapped open as someone slapped her cheek none too gently. She cursed aloud, now startled awake.

Ongrat was glaring at her, his torso halfway in the wagon from the driver's seat.

"Its dawn," he huffed, rubbing his brow. "And that was for punching me." He exited, ending the conversation.

Ilgil forced herself to move; they had to hide the pumice and then pretend to be sleeping in their tents on the beach. She didn't know how it was possible, but she felt more tired now than she did before falling asleep in the first place. She clumsily packed her bedroll away and squirmed out of the wagon; the tools had already been removed.

"Terrance and I unloaded the tools back at the hiding spot," Ongrat spoke as he came around to the back of the wagon which was on the far end of the beach she was most familiar with. "He's going to setup our camp and go to sleep while we unload."

Ilgil groaned. An entire wagon of pumice was still a huge load to lift – she may as well have been unloading logs.

"It was your idea," Ongrat reminded her.

She just grunted in reply, and began shifting the smallest pieces.

The pair struggled with the unwieldy slabs, carting them to a nearby shrubby dell up and over the dunes, on the side of a large rock outcrop.

"There's a sea cave nearby we can relocate these to later," Ongrat explained, "I've been to it before. It'll be perfect for making the boat in. The mentors don't go there."

Again, Ilgil simply grunted in reply. Right now she wouldn't care if her superiors walked over and caught them red handed – she couldn't care less as long as they let her sleep after yelling at her.

Finally, after nearly crushing herself beneath a particularly large and awkward slab, they had finished hiding the pumice. They took the wagon back and slumped down beside a snoring Terrance, as the sun rose slowly to the east. Within less than a minute, both of them were in a deep dreamless sleep.

Sometime later that day - it was difficult to tell the time as the sky was now shrouded in a mass of thick clouds - the three were rudely awoken but a sheet of ice-cold rain. In a startled panic they threw their gear on the horses and together headed back towards the monastery. When they reached the top of the dirt road, Terrance bid them a bleary farewell and departed for his farm, leaving the two half-Orcs to continue up to St. Jaspers together.

The pair didn't converse much; if Ilgil weren't so tired she'd have thought it was almost an awkward silence. When they reached the stables to put away their horses, she simply nodded when Ongrat told her that the reason they were tired was because they'd been up all night fishing and _not_ because they'd traversed across the island beyond the enchanted barriers.

Unsure whether they would be in trouble for arriving back in the state they were in, at an unknown time, they cautiously made their way to the storage, dumped their back packs, and headed straight for the dining hall – with any luck, it would be meal time, and they could merge inconspicuously in with the crowd and fill their empty, complaining stomachs. Luck was on their side – their mouths watered at the smell of freshly baked bread and they heard the chatter of thirty half-Orcs well before they reached the hall.

Everything went exceptionally well; they had joined their peers for lunch and made it through the rest of the day without so much as being asked "how was your trip?" by any of the mentors. They did get a few questions from their friends, but they answered them only vaguely and did their best to end such conversations by going onto random tangents that derailed most talk of the camping trip. Uurgrin, Ilgil noticed, grinned every time he heard her change the topic – he was one of two who knew the truth, and was fully aware she was fabricating utter lies. Ongrat noticed this too, and mumbled something less than polite in the bald half-Orc's ear. He barely managed to dodge Uurgrin's boulder-sized fist.

**Child of Arnrock**

The rest of the Ten-Day was almost as tiring; six nights in a row, they snuck down to the beach to work on the rock boat. Ongrat's sea cave was quite useful; it kept them dry in bad weather and allowed them to keep the tools dry as well.

Ongrat's enthusiasm to do a proper job of the boat was a little frustrating; Ilgil only needed the blasted thing to float and look boaty, but Ongrat insisted they seal the hull, make it stable and at least big enough to hold two persons.

"That kid might try an' pull a swifty," Ongrat had argued. "I'd bet my gauntlet's he'd say it's not a boat unless it's the size of a small dinghy. And we ought to seal it, you said yourself this stuff's like a sponge – look, just from that one night in the rain, it's much heavier. We gotta dry it out and stop water gettin' in again. You won't win the bet if the damn thing sinks before he sees it."

And so, the first two nights were spent drying the pumice in the cave next to a camp fire. The next day, they refined the slabs and started gluing and tying them together – Ongrat had provided copious amounts of glue and rope that Ilgil decided she'd best not ask from where. The night after that they finished piecing the simple flat-bottomed hull together, and sanded it smooth. With more questionable supplies the fifth night was spent lacquering the whole boat to stop it absorbing moisture, and on the sixth night they mostly admired their handiwork, trying not to collapse from exhaustion.

Together, they lifted the boat and put it into the shallow waters near the mouth of the sea cave and gingerly climbed aboard. It was a little cramped, but they could both sit with their arms around their knees.

"It's actually floating!" Ilgil gasped amazed, still half expecting the thing to fall apart or capsize.

A devious grin spread across Ongrat's face. "We oughta name it the _Sea Slug_."

"Ew," Ilgil grimaced at the thought. She knew _exactly_ what kind of 'sea slug' her friend was talking about – it was the nickname the students had given to floating poops (usually left behind by the very youngest ones -or one of the cheekier boys- during swimming).

"Over my dead body we're naming this boat after _that_! How atrocious," she chided.

"Says the girl who regurgitates spaghetti as a party trick."

"You _cannot_ compare that to a sea slug."

They both snorted a few laughs at the mention of the phrase; then they discussed names again.

"How abut we name it after the mother from whence it came," Ilgil said earnestly. "Let's call it _Child of Arnrock_."

Nodding, Ongrat agreed. "Alright, then."

On the morning of the seventh day since returning, Ilgil met someone she had not expected to see quite so soon. Having been sent back to bed due to "illness" (Ilgil had chucked a sickie in Reiwin's class to catch up on sleep), she was surprised to see the blonde haired noble girl in the student dormitories – Ilgil's immediate thought was that the noble was up to no good. But when the girl, standing beside Ilgil's own bed, turned to face her, Ilgil felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. The young noble looked about ready to start crying.

Ilgil had no idea what to do; she wasn't very good at speaking about anything heartfelt, but she knew she couldn't just turn around and walk back out the door (even if part of her really wanted to). She decided to walk over and at least ask the girl what was the matter.

Seeing Ilgil approaching, the visitor sat down on Ilgil's bed, wringing the hem of her frilly frock with her white-knuckled hands.

"I've been meaning to speak with you," she spoke, looking down at her knees.

Ilgil hovered at the end of her bed, indecisive whether to sit or stand. "Oh... why? Not that I mind."

"It's about the bet you made... I can't help but think, as admirable as your intentions were... that perhaps..."

"...I see." Ilgil smiled, her tusks showing all the more.

Looking up, the girl appeared surprised. "You have good news, then?" She breathed hopefully.

"I have one floating rock boat as promised." Ilgil replied, no longer hesitant. "It's almost ready; just a few final touches are being done to it."

Later that night Ilgil filled Ongrat in on her encounter in the dormitory.

"Her brother's in for a surprise," he grinned, bent over the hull coating it with yet more lacquer.

"Yeah... can't wait to see his face."

At the end of the fifth and final night of work, the pair stood back to admire their handy work one last time. Ilgil felt indebted to her friend, he had gone above and beyond all her expectations. She would have been pleased if they managed to create a haphazardly strewn together pumice raft, but instead their creation truly resembled the form of a dinghy. Ongrat had added oars (also of questionable origins), a seat, storage, and although not visible per-se, he had also went to great lengths to ensure it was water tight. If not for Ongrat's persistence, the boat would be nowhere near as grand.

"He can't say _that's_ not a boat," he nodded at the pumice dinghy, puffed up with pride. "Pretty good, even if I do say so myself."

"I owe you big time. Thanks Ongrat!" Callously she added, "I can't wait to wipe that smug look off his stupid face."

"Anything for..." Ongrat paused and scratched his nose distractedly.

Ilgil's stomach flipped; she wasn't sure why.

"...my friends."

**Birth**

Several nights later thoughts weaved in and out of Ilgil's mind as she tottered on the verge of sleep.

_...Remember... don't slip up and say it's 'cause we travelled across the island beyond the enchanted barriers..._

Although hardly even aware of her own thoughts, Ilgil's mind seemed to pause and jab her back to wakefulness. She pondered on Ongrat's words.

_He told me before we left we'd not be crossing the magical barriers_...

She thought some more on the meaning of this contradiction, and eventually concluded Ongrat had been very tired when he spoke with her at the stables after the journey and probably confused his words. The other possibility had many more implications.

_What if he was lying..._

Yelling from the upper floors interrupted her pondering; it was quickly followed by hurried footsteps. A moan of pain was audible, alerting Ilgil. She was about to get up out of bed when she heard the muffled voice of Biscuit on the next floor.

"The baby is coming, fetch the clerics."

Ilgil settled back down; the noble woman was going into labour, there was nothing to worry about.

That night proved to be a sleepless one for many of the students; the agonised screams and moans of the birthing mother were frequent enough to stop mostly everyone getting a decent night's sleep. The breakfast chatter was more sullen the next morning, but the Sisters were sympathetic and let the students have a day free of lessons.

Unfortunately, they were still required to do work – Ilgil spent the afternoon at the farm collecting eggs, and returned to St. Jaspers feeling both physically and mentally worn out. Hoarshu sat with her at dinner time, telling her friend about the visit to the mainland. She had returned two days prior, but had not had much of a chance to speak in great length with Ilgil.

Hoarshu was currently the polar opposite of her friend; she was energetic and enthusiastic, still left feeling quite exhilarated by her journey, and eager to tell all her experiences to her friend every chance she got. Ilgil felt a little resentful and jealous, but she lay those feelings aside and allowed Hoarshu to enjoy herself, letting Hoarshu share her stories with her.

Not wanting to steal her friend's thunder, Ilgil hadn't mentioned her own small adventure; she planned to wait until Hoarshu calmed down a little, and wait for some kind of prompt before sharing her own news. Unfortunately, when the news was shared, it was not in the way Ilgil had planned.

Ongrat came rushing over, and leaned over Ilgil's shoulder, acknowledging Hoarshu with a friendly nod.

"We've got to show them the boat tomorrow morning," he spoke in a hushed voice, "the nobles are leaving at lunchtime tomorrow."

"Oh," Hoarshu looked at the pair, "are you doing to work on the private ship that's in dock?" She asked.

"No, it's a different boat..." Ilgil replied tentatively. "And shut up Ongrat, Hoarshu was in the middle of talking to me! "

Hoarshu, however, seemed quite interested in hearing more. Ongrat squeezed himself between the pair and sat down, merrily explaining about the boat he and Ilgil made. Hoarshu interrupted when he began to tell about the journey to get the pumice. She leaned forward to look around Ongrat and straight at Ilgil. There was a very uncharacteristic stony look about Hoarshu's face.

"You went camping with Terrance?"

Ilgil was taken aback by the tone of her friend's voice; she sounded affronted.

"It wasn't really a camping trip," Ilgil explained, "and it wasn't entertaining. I'm still tired."

Hoarshu began eating her vegetables again, keeping her gaze focussed solely on her plate.

"Thanks for telling me." She replied with a hint of iciness.

She continued to eat in silence, leaving Ongrat to discuss arrangements for the boat with Ilgil, who was quite aware that something was bothering her best friend. She was hardly listening to Ongrat, and when Hoarshu excused herself from the table without so much as a 'see you later', Ilgil glared angrily at Ongrat.

**Justice Is Served**

The next morning at dawn, Ilgil, Ongrat and the three noble children met just beyond the main entrance to the grounds. Ongrat had informed them the boat was ready, and to meet them. The noble girl, whose name neither half-Orc yet knew, turned out to be a keeper of the peace, for which Ilgil was very grateful for.

Underneath the delicate looks of the blonde haired girl were the makings of a stern, tough woman. When her eldest brother began to argue the previous night with Ongrat and Ilgil, she stepped in and quelled the boy. Ilgil noted the stark contrast to how the girl acted on the beach, and took this as a sign she had toughened up a little.

_No girl should grow up without learning to stick up for herself. Looks like she no longer lets her brother push her around, which is good to see._

Ongrat lead everyone inside the sea cave, where the _Child of Arnrock_ was sitting in a mound of sand. The nobles were allowed to examine the boat, touch it and so on to confirm its rocky origins. At first the eldest noble laughed, mocking their creation, until the half-Orcs put it into the tidal rock pool, where it gaily bobbed on the disturbed water's surface. The boy's jaw gapped open, and he looked positively outraged.

"You cheated!" He screamed, rounding on the pair, his baby-like features twisted into an ungracious scowl. "There's no way that's possible without using magic! Lying half-breeds!"

With the elegance of a queen, the girl stepped forward. "Give Bryanth your pocket watch, Erig." She demanded calmly.

Erig looked across the cave at his younger brother, who would not make eye contact. Ilgil suspected Bryanth was trying very hard not to smile. Erig put a slightly quivering hand into his jacket pocket, and produced the flat silver object Ilgil had seen only once before.

"Be civil, now," the girl warned sternly.

Breathing in deeply, Erig seemed to be labouring to muster every ounce of self control he had, and did his best to appear composed. He held the shiny silver object up, dangling it by its matching chain.

To Bryanth he said, "I'm not walking over there. You'll come and get it, if you wish to have it."

Without a word, the younger brother made his way across the cave, and stood in front of his elder sibling. He swallowed, reaching up hesitantly for the pocket watch, throwing Erig nervous glances. When finally he took the watch, Erig simply looked at the floor in resign. Ilgil inwardly praised the noble for showing at least some sign of being a respectful person. She had been expecting him to throw the silver thing at the last moment.

It was Bryanth who startled her – upon receiving the prize he paced over to Ilgil and held out the object. Erig looked as astonished as Ilgil did.

"You have this," Bryanth said, looking still quite flighty. "It's the least I can do, for having helped me."

Very quietly he added, "Erig might try to take it back later..."

_Well, he may not keep his word, but Erig won't be keeping his silver thingy,_ Ilgil thought. _I'll make him keep part of his promise, at least._

32


	2. Act II

**Two's Company, Three's a Crowd**

During the following Ten-Day, Ilgil's schedule regained most of its normality. But it did not bring her happiness; instead, she felt quite miserable and agitated. Hoarshu was being distant, avoiding conversation and always somehow managing to get a seat at meal times where Ilgil could not join her.

Obviously something Ilgil had said or done had upset her friend, but for the life of her she could not figure out precisely what – how could she, when she couldn't even have a word with Hoarshu, private or otherwise? Ilgil had a vague idea it was something to do with her adventure; maybe Hoarshu felt like she had been left out. Ilgil may have had more patience to deal with her friend if not for someone else being suddenly distant as well.

Ongrat had stopped speaking with her shortly after the nobles departed; he did not avoid her so much as just plain ignored her. It was perhaps more upsetting than not being on speaking terms with Hoarshu, because she didn't even understand what she could have possibly done to warrant being invisible.

At the end of the Ten-Day, she decided to spend her day off at Terrance's place; he, at least, remained friendly. She arrived mid morning and was welcomed into the farm house, and almost immediately wished she had gone rock hunting instead – Hoarshu was inside, sitting down having breakfast with Terrance.

Ilgil stopped in the kitchen doorway; Hoarshu turned around, spotted her and gave Ilgil a rather filthy glare, and returned to eating her porridge without uttering a word of greeting. Terrance noticed and looked quizzically to Ilgil.

When Terrance quickly stood up and hurried to the back door, a look upon his face as if he had seen a monster, Hoarshu stood up to follow him.

"You haven't finished your porridge," she called out. "Do you need a hand with anything?"

A pair of firm hands gripped Hoarshu's shoulders and spun her around. She was facing a livid Ilgil, who had slightly bared teeth, flared nostrils and a heavily creased brow.

"Explain yourself now," she growled. "You've given me grief for the past ten days, and I don't know why! What could possibly stop us being friends? If it was the trip to the east shore – well, you were on a bloody great ship! I can't say I'm not disappointed I couldn't go with you. You've no right to resent me! I was quite jealous you know, but I shut up and didn't ruin for you."

Ilgil's dark brown eyes locked with Hoarshu's slate grey, each trying to burn the other's retinas with equally withering stares. Neither half-Orc backed down; there was something very honest about their exchange, and the tension that had been building up in Ilgil for the past Ten-Day was released in a huge sigh.

"I want to ask you something," Hoarshu finally spoke, her eyes a little softer but still reproachful.

"I'll answer anything you ask," Ilgil replied.

Hoarshu took a moment, looking for the right words. "Ilgil, do you... are you... do you fancy Terrance?"

Ilgil's immediate reaction was to make a face like she was sucking on a lemon. She was glad to not be consuming food or beverage because Ilgil was certain most of it may have been ejected in a spray upon her friend's face if she had been.

Managing to relax her jaw muscles a little she replied, "The only thing I fancy right now is leg of roast pork smothered in fatty gravy." As if to confirm the truth in these words her stomach gave a quiver and a gurgle. The thought of succulent roast meat was starting to make her involuntarily salivate.

Hoarshu's olive coloured cheeks were growing several shades darker; she covered her face with her hands, apparently too embarrassed to say anything.

In slight over exaggeration, but more than grateful to be rid of the quandary that had been hexing her, Ilgil threw her hands into the air, looking to the roof as though praying to the ceiling.

"By Ilmater, you really couldn't have asked me this at the start of the Ten-Day!? "

"Oh, so you just want to be his friend? Nothing more?" Hoarshu asked hopefully, her cheeks getting darker still.

Ilgil could hardly believe the agony had been over Hoarshu's apparent crush.

"That's right," she replied firmly. "I don't like string beans."

The cold veil which had separated the pair over the past week lifted, the girls firm friends once more. Ilgil offered to show Hoarshu the _Child of Arnrock_, which was stashed away in the cave it was built in. Hoarshu heartily agreed.

Thirty minutes later the trio rode their horses towards the shore that the half-Orcs often visited. Ilgil felt a little weird, having the knowledge she did about Hoarshu, and wished there could have been a fourth person to even the numbers. She had no idea if Terrance reciprocated Hoarshu's feelings, but Hoarshu's subtle flirting was suddenly more evident.

Purely by coincidence, as they were passing the monastery, Hoarshu suggested they bring along Ongrat.

"No," Ilgil responded more bluntly than she had intended. She did not elaborate and kept trotting by, the mention of her estranged friend making her less enthusiastic to see the boat they had built together.

A wintery wind picked up as they travelled down to the beach; it made talking difficult, which Ilgil was grateful for. Leaving the horses on the sand, they walked a short ways to the waterside cave. Ilgil's eyes took a moment to adjust to the cavern; and when they had, she did a double take of the scene.

"Where the heck's the boat?" She swore a little under her breath.

Ilgil hurried deeper inside, splashing through the rock pools left behind by low tide. The sand pile that had once supported the hull was still there; as was the evidence of the boat's creation: pumice dust and chips, bits of left over twine and rope, and a shiny rock where they had tested the lacquer. There was no mistake that this cavern should have housed the _Child of Arnrock_.

Terrance and Hoarshu helped to search the cave front to rear. It wasn't a difficult task; the cave itself was one massive hole, and it tapered to a small tunnel that no boat could fit through. They checked the deeper pools of water, in case the boat had sunk, but found only the usual inhabitants and a potion bottle.

"This looks like it's been dropped only recently," Hoarshu commented on her find. She held the bottle up to examine it; the glass was clear and free of slime or barnacles, the contents looked an opaque dark reddish-amber, almost like blood. "I could be wrong, but this looks likes like an endurance draught. They make these here in the monastery's alchemical lab, where they make the wines. The Sisters and clerics mostly use them on women in labour. Helps keep up their strength and stamina."

"If that's the case," Ilgil replied, "it's probable one of the Sisters found the boat. Oh well... that sucks."

Disappointed and unable to do anything, Ilgil glumly followed Terrance and Hoarshu back towards Periwinkle Farm. They took the scenic route, following the road around the coast line, away from the monastery.

**Four's a Party**

The trio skirted the island's shores at a leisurely pace and followed the strip of forest bordered by the enchantment back up towards the farm. Terrance's parents were out for the day at the docks delivering produce, so the three ate in their own company, enjoying pickled eggs and gherkins – pickles were a specialty of the farmers of Arnrock.

Terrance's wagon needed minor repairs; more than willing to help, the two half-Orc girls went outside with their friend after eating their fill. It was an overcast windy day, but the rain was holding off.

Ilgil cut new planks to replace some of the wagon's rotted ones. She worked around the corner of the homestead, near the barn, where the wood was stored. Terrance and Hoarshu were fixing the new planks onto the wagon which was parked in the open beside the stone-walled paddock that had recently been planted with a winter crop.

The final planks cut to length, Ilgil carried her load over her shoulder. She just walked around the corner of the house when she saw something that made her freeze.

Across the yard, beyond the paddock walls, was a terribly familiar creature: a spinosaur had emerged from the tree line, sniffing the air and moving very slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse.

She looked at the wagon; Hoarshu and Terrance were completely oblivious to the predator's existence. Ilgil knew it shouldn't be a problem – the imperceptible enchanted barrier would prevent it from coming any closer – but it was still an unsettling sight.

_Any moment now it should turn its long snout and walk away..._

_...Maybe the barrier is closer to the paddock that I thought..._

_...Holy crap._

Ilgil dumped her load as quietly as possible, picked up the nearest stone in a bit of a panic, and threw it around the corner at her friends. It clanked loudly against a metal bolt; the spinosaur halted, its long face pointing at the wagon like the needle of a compass. She cursed at herself for her own stupidity.

Hoarshu and Terrance looked over their shoulders quizzically. Ilgil flailed her arms trying to communicate silently that there was a giant meat-eating dinosaur on the other side of the paddock, looking at them. The message was not very well conveyed, but they followed her frenzied finger-pointing and looked around the wagon – and became quite aware of the colossal sail-backed, crocodile-like reptilian.

Slightly more in control of her limbs now, Ilgil mimed for her friends to remain silent and stay still, and that she would be back in a moment. She hoped they understood because she wasn't hanging around to wait for a response – she had to help them now.

Ilgil ran around the farm house, snatching up a hay fork she spotted along the way, sprinted to the front yard where her horse was chewing on the grass in a small fenced off paddock. She left the gate open, mounted her black and brown steed, and galloped around the other side of the farm house appearing in time to see the spinosaur trudging through the tilled paddock, sniffing its way ever closer to the wagon her two friends were currently crouched behind like terrified mice.

She breathed deeply and bellowed a coarse guttural Orcish roar, waving the pitchfork around wildly. It did not sound as impressive as she had imagined (she put it down to gender) but it had done the trick – the spinosaur was now regarding her with its large brown eyes.

_I've got brown eyes too_, she thought fleetingly. _I wonder if rabbits think the same thing, when they spot me about to plummet an arrow into their poor little hearts?_

As the beast turned, Ilgil yelled at it again, but this time she was yelling instructions for her friends.

"Terrance! Hoarshu! I'll lead the creature away. You go and hide in the cellar - don't come out 'til someone from monastery arrives to say it's safe!"

Perhaps because the Ilgil and her horse looked like a two-course feed, or because Ilgil's yelling was aggravating it, the dinosaur lurched around and ran towards her; she was amazed by the agility of the creature. Ilgil steered the horse around and began to gallop away, looking over her shoulder to ensure the spinosaur was following her. A bellow like thunder erupted from its jaws; she felt her horse put on a burst of speed.

The spinosaur was close on their tails. Ilgil threw the pitch fork over her shoulder haphazardly, requiring both hands to ensure a proper grip on the reins. She heard a satisfying metallic pang and angry snarl from her seeker, though the dinosaur slowed none; hopefully, she thought, it would ensure the beast did not get bored with her and turn back to slower prey at the farm.

Fully aware that if she should fall off the saddle now, or should her horse trip, her life was at an end – Ilgil concentrated on the path of her horse, paying acute attention to the foreground. Once she was a decent distance from the farm, she began to try and shake the predator. It was keeping up, gaining a little even, and close enough for her to hear its heavy breathing.

Her horse jumped down an escarpment; she held her breath, readying for the impact and praying the horse did not stumble. The pair landed safely, galloped into an apple orchard, right down one of the many parallel corridors and into the forest beyond, keeping her head low. She slowed her horse to a trot as they navigated down a shallow slope onto a cooled lava flow that had erupted from a small vent a couple of years ago.

Scattered patches of grass and some small shrubs grew in the cracks but otherwise the rock was bare, and still greatly resembled burnt apple crumble. Very cautiously she and her steed picked a path across the valley; her horse's metal shoes chinked on the rock with every step.

As they climbed up the other side of the shallow valley the spinosaur emerged from the forest behind, striding down the slope. Ilgil encouraged her horse forward; she looked around when their hunter let out a sharp cry, and saw it limping. It halted, lifting its hurt foot, only to bellow as it doubled the pressure on the other foot, making the rock pierce its thick skinned soles and cause discomfort. Relief flooded through her – this was her chance to escape. The cooled lava's sharp texture had not yet eroded.

Leaving the spinosaur to figure out its own problems, Ilgil steered her horse through the trees until they emerged onto the path that went between Periwinkle Farm and St. Jaspers, and headed straight for the monastery.

**A Debt Owed**

Ilgil prayed the dinosaur would not return to ravage the farm houses – and hoped that Terrance and Hoarshu were safe in the cellar. She relaxed her horse back to a trot again as they approached the archway to the front grounds of the monastery.

She entered the perimeter, looking for anyone to report to. The grounds were unusually vacant; there was no one to be seen - not even any of the students. Gardens deserted, she steered her steed around the main building and into a courtyard via an undercover pathway.

_There's never a Sister around when you _actually_ need one, s_he thought irritably.

Her heart jumped into her mouth at the sound of a high pitched, agonised scream – immediately she whipped the reins and her mount hurtled across the courtyard towards the source of the noise, the dining hall main entrance. Ilgil dismounted in such a hurry that she nearly ate dirt, stumbled into the wooden doors that swung in under her weight and fell into the hall like a drunkard at a tavern.

Arnrock had been Ilgil's home for nearly seven years; it had not necessarily been her ideal choice of abode after she had been taken from her clan, but it had not been terrible, either – until today.

Two strange women with whips stood on the long dining table, one pinning down an elderly female Dwarf cook, the other poised with a whip in her hand ready to lash the thin black cord across the cook's back. Ilgil had evidently interrupted the whipping; the Dwarf's clothing was blood stained, torn in places where she had been lashed previously.

The torturers half turned and glared at Ilgil. They wore black knee-high boots and exceptionally revealing outfits that had a slight Victorian flair. Their bare shoulder blades were laced with scars, and though they wore something akin to delicate ball masks over their faces, their eyes were hard and cold looking.

The woman with the raised whip had gleaming black corn rows which swept down to her waist, and appeared to be middle aged. The other had light brown hair pulled up into a delicate knot; she, however, appeared to be an adolescent. Ilgil's brain was going over time trying to make sense of the unfolding events as she unceremoniously got back up her feet.

_Is this an island of horrors? What the hell kind of day is this?_

The _Free Winds_ was not at shore, she knew Torga and several other senior Sisters to be away on individual missions – under the current circumstances she'd have bet her entire rock collection it was no mere coincidence the enchantment which had kept large predators out of the populated areas had failed today.

"You will be spared further punishment," the older woman with corn rows spoke, turning back to the weeping Dwarf. "This day is for Loviatar – you have offended her, by incubating these babes away from the true world, sheltering them unfairly from the pain and neglect which is rightfully theirs!"

The pair rounded on Ilgil, abandoning their previous victim.

"You have seven years of physical and mental turmoil to catch up on, little one," The woman spoke almost lovingly, caressing her whip between her fingers.

"Bullshit!" Ilgil spat out the word aghast, continuing to swear profusely. "You think I'm just gonna bend over and take it? What are you talking about, anyway? Nobody wants pain in their life, physical or otherwise."

She snorted derisively, but in truth Ilgil had no idea how she was going to stop these two women. The eldest one, at the very least, was probably quite experienced – the Dwarves at St. Jaspers were no pushovers, and if the intruders had anything to do with the disrupted enchantment, one of them was undoubtedly proficient with magic.

As if cued by Ilgil's thoughts, the younger of the two women muttered an incantation in a language Ilgil was not familiar with. The Dwarf was rendered unconscious, and lay relaxed and bleeding on the dining table. The adolescent looked straight at Ilgil.

Raising her fists Ilgil prepared to defend herself; there was no getting out of this one - if she ran, she was afraid they might kill the cook.

_Thud! Thud! Thud! Crack!_

The adolescent dropped like a sack of potatoes; relief flooded through Ilgil – Biscuit was looking down at the now unconscious stranger from the bench top. She'd never seen Biscuit look so menacing before; the Sister's teeth were bared in a snarl, poised in Scorpion stance, and her thick brows were knitted together in a look of concentration and anger. Biscuit looked from the limp mess on the floor to Ilgil.

"Find the others and hide them!" Biscuit spoke urgently in Orcish, "The toddlers were playing outside in the garden. Go! We are under attack by followers of Loviatar! There are at least a dozen intruders, maybe more."

Giving a quick nod in stupefied acknowledgement, Ilgil ran across the hall, past the dining table which had become a battleground for Biscuit and the woman with corn rows. Ilgil could hear yells on the level above, and what sounded like spell casting; she could not divert herself now however. Her priority was to find the youngest recent additions to her brethren - some of them were only four or five years old, brought recently to the monastery by needy mothers who had pleaded the children be taken in.

Through the rear door, across the lawns, into another building and out into a quadrangle – she'd ran this route so many times that her legs carried her there on auto-pilot without much need to think about it. She ducked behind a giant ornamental urn to scope out the garden which served as a large play ground. It looked empty; except...

There. She spotted white cloth among the bushes – a favourite hidey hole of Ilgil's when she had been small enough to fit inside the hollowed out shrubs. Cautiously she slunk around the perimeter beneath the cloister's protective cover. Once she was as close to the bushes as she could get without leaving the path, she checked to make sure she was not being followed or spied upon. When she decided the coast was clear, Ilgil ran into the garden and crawled on her stomach towards the pocket of shrubs at the back of the garden, against a wall.

"Hello," Ilgil whispered in Common as she closed in on the now quivering bush. "Biscuit sent me. It's okay."

Ilgil crawled up to the bush and stuck her head in the concealed hole. There were three very young half-Orcs inside; most of them still chubby looking with soft looking faces and podgy hands.

"Are there others?" Ilgil asked apprehensively, their nervous looks unsettling her. "Did anyone go missing?"

Lavender, the smallest of the three, had cheeks streaked with tears; her lip quivered but she tried to answer Ilgil. "Dey ran off," she whimpered, sniffing a streaming, boggery, nose.

Nobody offered any more information; the three toddlers seemed to be concentrating more on preventing themselves from bawling out loud – Ilgil appreciated their rather acute awareness of the situation.

"I bet they're with Narviok or one of the other Sisters, and are doing just fine," Ilgil tried to reassure them. "Now then, Biscuit had asked me to hide you somewhere safe –"

"Stay here wiff us!" Jerin, a boy little older than Lavender, spoke suddenly. "Plants hid us good. Nobody find us."

Ilgil had a job convincing them that the bushes were not suitable, since she had seen them from across the garden. Once she had their minds changed, Ilgil led them warily out into the courtyard, scouting ahead of the trio. She shepherded them into the building that did not have any obvious signs of conflict within its walls. Ilgil knew of a cellar that would make a good place to hide, and led them to it.

Beside a staircase was an old worn-out rug. Ilgil pulled it back, revealing a trap door. She dug her nails into the groove (there was no handle) to pry it open. She bent a few black nails in the process, but the trap door swung open silently – it was well oiled, and meant not to be easily accessible to young half-Orcs. She stuck her head in the dark cavity and reappeared after ensuring nothing sinister was waiting inside.

"Quick, in," Ilgil urged, ushering them towards the square hole with an arm.

One by one the trio climbed down the wooden stairs into the cellar. Thankfully darkness was no problem to these children who had cat-like sight. _One of the many advantages of having Orc blood_, she thought proudly.

Lavender stopped and looked eye-to-eye with Ilgil, who was crouching beside the hole. The young half-Orc girl was very frightened.

"Don't make any sounds when you get inside, until one of the Sisters comes looking, okay?" Ilgil patted the girl's head, feeling rather awkward; Ilgil wasn't the huggy sort of person and didn't know what to do to help ease her fretting younger brethren. "Now quick, hop in and find somewhere to hide with your friends."

She gently closed the door as Lavender's head descended below floor level and pulled the mat back over.

**Maiden of Pain**

"Trying to hide, like rats from a fire, I see. How very fitting for a pack of half-Orcs."

Ilgil froze dead. That voice was close behind her, and it was familiar... she stood up, pivoting on her heels.

Ilgil faced a girl she recognised almost immediately – the young noble involved in the bet, whose name she had somehow never managed to learn – gracious, petit, weak looking with a long blonde braid and pale green dress... well, now the girl wore what looked like a black ball gown, complete with an emerald encrusted tiara, her hair not restrained at all, black elbow-length gloves... and a matching black whip.

So perplexed by what she saw, Ilgil's mouth opened and closed a couple of times without uttering a sound. She was lost for words – how could this be? Surely... _surely_, she was misinterpreting the scene. Before now, the girl had not struck her as a harsh sort of person, and she had never shown any sort of resentment towards Ilgil or her fellow half-Orcs during the noble family's stay at St. Jasper's. She had even appeared quite timid at first.

"Have you come back to visit?" Ilgil asked hesitantly, unable to think of anything else to say.

The girl smiled with genuine pleasure. "Yes, I daresay you could say that. And this time, I am with my extended family." The velvety gown rippled as she took a few steps closer to Ilgil.

"I've been looking for you, I wanted to repay you." she continued unctuously.

Ilgil's eyes fell upon the whip again, its loops clasped gently in the girl's gloved hands.

"Please tell me," Ilgil started, the haze of befuddlement beginning to clear in her mind, "that you are not involved with the attack on this monastery..."

A malevolent smile spread across the young girl's face, presenting flawless white teeth only a noble could afford to maintain.

"You made my visit very interesting," she spoke kindly. Ilgil was not so stupid as to not realise by now the girl was being anything_ but_ kind. "I feel I owe you, for assisting me to inflict emotional pain upon my two suitors, Erig and Bryanth. I decided that the best way to thank you is to educate you myself. It is a privilege, to be taught by me – I'm the Head Priestess' protégée."

"Don't mix me up with your horrid religion. If I had 'helped' you, it was only because you lied through your teeth while you were here. They were supposed to have been your brothers." Ilgil looked at the girl with revulsion; she would never have guessed the noble was a follower of Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain.

In a flash of anger the girl unfurled her whip and attempted to glare menacingly down her nose at Ilgil, though this was a little difficult since Ilgil was half a foot taller. She nearly laughed at the attempt but she held her tongue.

"Watch your mouth half-Orc, don't ever speak of Loviatar unless it is words of admiration or praise! Deception is a mandatory skill for any of her followers – we keep our business to ourselves. My superiors know how fickle Ilmatari are. Can't even teach a few lessons in heartbreak, without all of you getting your loin cloths in a knot! Of course we had to lie."

Ilgil straightened up as much as she could, extending the height difference between them, looking down her own nose at the mouthy 'protégée'. She realised she could see the girl's somewhat developed bosom – the noble was, quite probably, much older than Ilgil had originally assumed.

"How old are you?" She demanded.

The noble appeared more than happy to oblige Ilgil with an answer, even looking quite flattered, forgetting her momentary unlady-like tantrum.

"Yes, my adolescence is more observable in this dress," the noble spoke with a pompous air, stroking a single hand down the exposed skin below her collar bone. "But I did a good job pretending to be a child; I even fooled the Sisters. I mustn't take all the credit, though – my mentor helped, she's a very advanced illusionist."

Without warning, she raised the whip; barely five paces from Ilgil, the noble was within striking range. "With this lash, I will teach you to fear and respect Loviatar!"

With a flick of her wrist, the apprentice priestess expertly whipped the black cord through the air. Ilgil tried to avoid the thing, but it caught her thigh as she swerved, stinging like a wasp.

_Snap!_

A few drops of blood spattered the stairwell banister, originating from Ilgil's cheek; she automatically recoiled, raising and arm to protect her eyes.

_Snap!_

The lash seized her forearm; ignoring the stinging for the time being, Ilgil grabbed the whip with her hand. She snarled, her temper a rope that was fraying under load. She could feel the blood vessels on her temple pulsating agitatedly, and the very edges of her vision were blurring red in time to her heart.

Though she was loathsome to admit it, despite her deepest wishes to beat the insides out of her adversary, this was no battle Ilgil could possibly win. The girl knew Ilgil well enough – she'd had six Ten-Days to weigh up every half-Orc's strengths and weaknesses at St. Jasper's; the girl would have been intelligent enough not to pick a fight with Ilgil unless she was confident she could overcome the in-training monk. And the noble was certainly radiant with confidence.

_I just need to stop her opening the trap door_, Ilgil thought desperately.She felt a terrible sense of dread and shame at the thought of the children beneath her feet in the cellars being tortured and whipped.

Ilgil was not permitted time to think of a plan of action; the apprentice priestess still held the handle of the whip, muttering incantations. Ilgil yanked hard at the lash wrapped around her arm, but the girl had a surprisingly strong grip; the whip was not released, merely causing the apprentice to stagger sideways.

A blue bolt erupted from a gloved finger tip and fizzed through the air, hitting Ilgil off-centre in the chest. The impact felt like a powerful punch; Ilgil was jerked backwards off her feet, spun sideways and landed painfully on her side.

Her head a little woozy, she sat up; there was an acute pain in her side, and the impact of the magic had left a burn. The whip was still wrapped around her forearm, more loosely now, and no longer in possession of the apprentice priestess – it had been ripped free. She saw a flutter of black, and threw herself sideways just in time – a black boot cleaved through the air where her head had been.

Ilgil rolled into the wall, and sat up, using it to support her weight; her legs were stretched out in front, her feet resting on the well worn rug which hid the entrance to the cellar. The girl turned to face Ilgil, towering over the injured half-Orc, looking down at her with a mix of arrogance and aggression. She stepped forward, until her draping gown was brushing against Ilgil's sandals.

"You may not be grateful now," the girl spoke in a severe tone, "but once you and your kin have been freed from this putrid bubble that separates you from painful reality, you will be thankful."

"What's your name, anyway?" Ilgil asked, holding the apprentice's glare. She added scornfully, glancing at her burnt shirt, "to whom do I owe this pleasure?"

"Gwendavera," the apprentice replied with a haughty air. "My family name, however, is none of your concern."

_Oh yes it is_, Ilgil thought angrily. _You're bingo book entry number one._

Ilgil gripped the whip tighter and drew it closer as Gwendavera looked to her weapon. She would not be simply handing the wretched thing over...

Gwendavera sighed, stepping back a pace so she was almost against the banister. "If you insist."

Ilgil she heard another muttering of spell incantations. Almost instantly her head felt light and she found herself unable to think straight. Ilgil barely noticed her fingers being pried open, but some part of her tried its best to keep them closed.

Something large fell atop of Gwendavera, knocking her to the ground; Ilgil watched dopily as two people wrestled on the ground. As Ilgil's temporary daze began to lift, she realised it was one of her fellow half-Orcs scuffling with Gwendavera. Ilgil staggered to her feet, hindered by her injuries and the lingering befuddlement. One clear thought guided her actions like a light at the end of a tunnel.

_I just need to stop her opening the trap door..._

The fringes of her vision began to gain the red aura they had lost earlier; she watched as Gwendavera struggled out of Uurgrin's grasp, and jumped to her feet, the tiara askew and her gown torn. The apprentice raised a gloved hand and began to open her mouth, but before she could invoke another spell Ilgil charged at her and flung herself with all her might at the offensive mouth.

There was an audible _crack_ of breaking bones as Ilgil's skull collided with Gwendavera's jaw; stars burst into Ilgil's sight and she blacked out as her body fell into a tangled heap with the apprentice priestess.

**Shadow Monk**

Ilgil regained consciousness; she heard the sound of lapping water, the smell of brine, and heard numerous objects moving with the swaying motion. She concluded she must have been on some kind boat, and her suspicions were confirmed when she opened her eyes. Once her vision cleared, though she hadn't been on a ship since she first arrived at St. Jasper's, she was sure she was inside the cargo hold of a ship – the walls were characteristically curved, wooden and there was a single door. There were no bars or manacles fastened to the walls, indicating the room was not designed for captives. But she was not free to move.

Her hands and feet were shackled, connected to a thick chain. The metal clunked noisily as she sat up. She jerked in fright when a hand helped push her back up.

"It's me, Uurgrin," the owner of the hand whispered in Orcish. "Are you alright? I was worried you injured your head."

"Could be better," Ilgil replied groggily. "Got a thumping headache and I'm sure my ribs are cracked. Uurgrin! What happened to you?"

Uurgrin's face was covered with blood, and his shaved, bald head was laced with lacerations. It looked as though he may have also broken an arm; he nursed it gingerly on his lap, it looked exceptionally swollen and bruised, and his torn tunic revealed multiple bleeding cuts and welts.

"Nothing that cannot heal with time," he assured her.

Ilgil looked around; she and Uurgrin were not alone. They were with half-Orc brethren from the monastery, all of whom were shackled and connected to the chain, sitting or slumped unconscious in a 'U' shape around the walls of their confinement. Ilgil counted them; there appeared to be approximately twenty figures. She was relieved that she could not identify the young half-Orcs from the cellar amongst them.

"It's those Loviataran worshippers," Uurgrin whispered quieter still, leaning in close to her ear. "From what I heard them say, they plan to hand us over to an Orc tribe... after they have us tortured in their Winter Solstice rituals."

"Are you... looking forward to being reunited with Orcs?" Ilgil probed; she'd known Uurgrin to be openly resentful of being taken from his clan, and was curious to know what he thought about the situation.

Uurgrin turned his head away for a moment, considering the question. "No, we are being handed over to the first Orc band they find, not our birth clans, and it is likely we will simply be enslaved. No clan, not even our birth clan, would see much value in Human-raised half-Orcs."

"But we weren't raised only by Humans," Ilgil protested. She felt disappointed by Uurgrin's reply for some reason.

"No, but we have learnt very Human values."

"We could learn Orc values. We're not adults yet."

"I do not think Ilgil is suited to all Orc values... only some. And some is not good enough to live amongst Orcs."

"What about you, then?" Ilgil asked. "I reckon you'd fit in pretty good. You're the only one of us who's stronger than me."

She was sure Uurgrin grinned; it was a little hard to tell underneath all that blood and swollen features though.

"Uurgrin has Orcish beauty," he said, "but Uurgrin has grown fond of certain Human values and half-Orcish things."

Ilgil knew by the tone of his voice that he was being slightly cryptic. She took this as a sign that Uurgrin, perhaps, did not wish to entirely divulge his personal thoughts on the matter. She decided to change the subject.

"So, what happened after I went out? Last thing I remember is you fighting with Gwendavera, or whatever her name was."

Uurgrin obliged to fill her in.

"You knocked the girl unconscious, but more came and they beat me 'til I couldn't fight. They took us and fled the monastery; I saw our brothers and sisters also being taken away. It reminded me heavily of when we were taken from our clans; only, this time, many of us had suffered much physical pain.

"Those who were abducted by the Loviatarans and taken to the beach, where their ship was hidden by magic, ended up in these chains. The Sisters who were still able tried to pursue us, but the ship was launched and they could not follow. They may have gone to get a ship of their own, but Uurgrin does not know."

Uurgrin did not sound terribly hopeful, either. Ilgil made an attempt to free herself, but it was fruitless; she had little strength left and the shackles were well looked after and of high quality. She decided to try and get some sleep, slumped against the wooden wall and resting her chin on her chest.

Ilgil was awoken abruptly when the ship shuddered; she had no idea how much time had passed. Lamplight filtered beneath the door that was across the room, but there were no windows to see the sky through. Uurgrin stirred on her right looking alert; he wasn't the only one - everyone seemed to have been roused by the bump. Muttering broke out: was that a rock, perhaps turbulence in the water, or, dare they hope, some kind of attack on the ship? Ilgil feverishly hoped it was the later, but she did not want to get her hopes up.

There was another thud, though it did not shudder the ship; it came from above their heads. Ilgil heard the creaking of wood and saw as she craned her neck around that a blade was sticking through the hull between two planks. It retreated out of sight; she eyed the hole to see if the blade tip would appear again, but Uurgrin nudged her and pointed to the centre of the hold.

Ilgil did not see anything other than the mast which reached from the floor up through the ceiling and the decks above. She did a double take when she realised someone was standing next to it; they were still and completely silent. Ilgil could not make out any sharp features, their outline seemed to blur with the darkness of the hold, but the general tall and muscular stature of the person was familiar.

Another shudder went through the hull, more jarring this time; the still figure came to life at the sound, striding forward in a flurry of shadows, and kicked a hole in the back of the ship several feet to Ilgil's left.

Excitement rushed through Ilgil – she knew who kicked like that.

"It's Torga!" She whispered to Uurgrin. "She has come to save us!"

Everyone watched in tense silence as Torga, wearing a long black roomy coat with a high collar, tore wood away from the hole to make it larger. When it was large enough to fit a person through, she reached outside with one arm and hauled a sack through the hole – followed by a person.

Uurgrin gasped in disbelief. "Ongrat!"

Ilgil watched as a sack was pulled inside and put aside, followed by a soaking wet Ongrat who flopped on the floor between two of the chained half-Orcs, as if the back of the ship had given birth to him; he was not there for long, hauled to his feet by Torga, and having a pair of bolt cutters shoved into his hands that she pulled out from the black abyss of her coat.

"Get to work," Torga spoke urgently, pivoting and crouching to face the sack. She rummaged around, and pulled out several objects, whisking them over to the end of the chain line.

The objects were glass vials filled with a dark liquid; Torga began to administer the contents of the vials to each half-Orc. Ongrat ran to the other end of the chain and began to cut the chains from the shackles.

The boat rocked more wildly, and the odd sounds of shouts and someone running on the above deck reached their prison. A far louder crash than any they had heard before reverberated through the timbers; the ship lurched to one side, throwing everyone to one side. Only Torga remained steady, holding the potions upright without spilling so much as a drop of their contents.

When it was Ilgil's turn to drink from the vial, she recognised the potion – it was the endurance draught that Hoarshu had found in the cavern. She drank a couple of mouthfuls, the draught returning strength to her limbs and warming her from the inside, then handed the bottle to Uurgrin who took a couple of mouthfuls under Torga's instruction.

Everyone had been administered potion well before Ongrat had finished cutting the chains; Torga took out another pair of bolt cutters and handed them to one of the free half-Orcs, who immediately got to work.

"I cannot stay longer," Torga spoke to her students, "I am required on the top deck. I have given Ongrat instructions, please follow them." Ilgil saw Torga's amber eyes glare warningly at her for the briefest moment.

"And do not fear the shark – she is on our side." Torga's final words seemed to linger longer than Torga herself, who vanished from sight almost instantly.

"Where'd she go?" Someone asked.

"Keep your voices down," Ongrat spoke in a strained voice, "we need to remain unnoticed for as long as possible."

Uurgrin remained uncharacteristically quiet as his friend freed him from the chains; when Ongrat moved over to cut Ilgil free, a surge of contempt for the older half-Orc who had mysteriously estranged her only recently welled up inside and she averted her gaze, unwilling to give him a chance to meet her eyes and say whatever it was she sensed he'd been building himself up to as he gradually made his way down the chain to her. She suspected it was an apology of some sort, but she would not hear it.

Almost feeling the hostility emanating from the half-Orc girl like heat from a flame, Ongrat faltered for a moment; she refused to look, and after a few seconds of indecisiveness Ongrat broke her chains and moved on to the next person in line without speaking.

**The Fight Between Orders**

It became clear the ship was currently under some kind of assault. As the last chains fell to the floor, metal shackles still on wrists and ankles but no longer restricting their freedom of movement, there was a terrible groaning of the timbers and then the splintering of wood; everyone had to brace themselves. Ilgil steadied Uurgrin, whose broken arm hampered his ability to balance himself.

Ongrat hurried over to the breach in the hull he had entered through; water was slopping in as the ship rocked up and down from the last battering. He pulled a grappling hook and rope out of the sack, tying one end around the root of the mast, then pulling another object out of the sack. It was a square wooden box of plain appearance, no larger than a jewellery box.

With deliberate haste Ongrat hurried over to the hole, stood on his toes, and held the box in open night air with one arm, and spoke to the box as if giving it a command.

"Shift shape."

Ilgil could not see what was happening very clearly; Ongrat dropped the box as if it was a hot coal, and it plopped into the water. There was some splashing the clunking of wood and then silence. Ilgil moved to the hole, which started at shoulder height, and peered down at the water; there was no sign of the wooden box, only a boat approximately ten feet long bobbing on the surface.

"Shift shape," Ongrat spoke again.

Ilgil understood now what had happened – the box was imbued, by the looks of it, with magic. She had heard of these 'folding boats', the Sisters sometimes took on their travels. As she watched, the boat was folding and turning, transforming itself into a moderate ship of over twice the size of the small boat. Oars popped up out of gaps in the planks and laid themselves beside newly sprouted seats and a cabin grew up from the swelling deck. It was like watching invisible hands put together a single, massive, origami ship.

She moved aside as Ongrat approached the hole again. He threw the grappling hook up onto the deck of the ship, pulling it until it was caught firm. He turned to face the group which had surrounded the hole; the rope began to exit through the hole as the Loviataran ship sailed onwards.

"That ship fits fifteen, but all of us should squeeze on. Keep a hold of the rope or you might get left behind by the ship we are currently inside; the fittest should go first, so you can help others climb aboard. I will stay behind to hoist people through the hole."

Climbing through the hole, Ilgil realised, was going to be quite difficult for Uurgrin; he was tall and wide, and his injuries would hamper him. She waited behind as the healthier students climbed to their liberty, using the now taut rope as a guide line to reach the folding boat.

Sounds of violence grew louder, and the ship showed obvious signs of being compromised. Water was gurgling under the door to their confinement, and the ship was angled ever so slightly to the fore.

"You go next," Ongrat spoke to her when there was only a few half-Orcs left to evacuate. Ilgil almost felt capable of forgiving him when she saw his worry.

"Uurgrin follows me out," she replied, pointing to his bruised arm. "He will need help."

Uurgrin did not argue; he simply got in line behind her. Ongrat kneeled in front of the hole as he had done for all his fellows and Ilgil climbed onto his shoulders, pulling herself through the hole into the freezing waters.

She held onto the rope with one hand and grabbed hold of Uurgrin's uninjured hand with the other, pulling him into the churning, cold wake of the ship. She pulled him closer, instructing him to hold on; his great muscular arm wrapped around her neck, their combined weight putting pressure on her grasping fingers. Once her other hand was free, she manoeuvred to face her destination, and began to pull herself and Uurgrin hand-over-hand to the safety of the folding boat. She had spotted the Child of Arnrock bobbing madly in the turbulent water a few feet away, tethered to the ship, but she had no time to think of that now – she needed to get Uurgrin and herself safely to the folding boat.

Multicoloured flashes not unlike fireworks lit up the sky and reflected off the turbulent water as she made her way to the boat. It might have been a captivating sight if not for the screams, pained grunts, other sounds of battle and the splashing of something massive in the water that could have been a whale or something far more sinister. Multiple willing hands grabbed the pair and pulled them aboard on arrival. The sheer cold pained Ilgil; the only warmth she felt now was from the heat exuded by her aggravated cracked ribs.

Half-carried half-dragged to the cabin, Ilgil and Uurgrin were deposited with the less able. There were no towels or blankets, not even cushions, only bare wooden surfaces that looked incongruously new and unworn. Everyone inside the cabin huddled together like penguins around a window; though tired and freezing, the students were anxious to see all their comrades make it to the boat safely.

Orange light from a fire somewhere on the large ship illuminated the waters on the starboard side. Something immense reared out of the water, almost as big as the ship itself, with a gaping chasm lined with bright white, triangular teeth as large as kite shields. The thing's mass crashed down upon the fore end of the Loviataran ship, taking a bite out of the timbers as easily as biting into bread loaf. Ilgil now knew why Torga had felt it necessary to warn them of the shark – despite knowing it was not a foe, all the half-Orcs instinctively shrank behind the closest object at the mere sight of it. It was a little unnatural to consider such a massive beast as an ally to say the least.

"I knew the Sisters trained some animals, but that's gigantic!" Someone in the cabin whispered in awe.

Another laughed a little. "Imagine trying to tame that – I wonder how many cows they fed it just to pacify the thing?"

"More like, how many Sisters they fed it, hurr hurr."

Ilgil smirked at the thought. She'd have to ask Torga later just how exactly they _had_ manage to tame a man-eating shark the size of a hump back whale.

Everyone held their breath as the aft end of the Loviataran ship began to rear out of the water; the rope was still attached to the mast's root, nobody entirely sure if everyone had been evacuated. Ilgil's eyes scoured the deck; she could not see Ongrat.

A blossom of fire erupted into the sky igniting a mast and sail; silhouetted against the fire were two figures fighting on the slowly rising quarterdeck. The pair were undoubtedly a Sister and a Loviataran; the lithe and powerful movements of the monk were easily recognisable, her body and limbs twirling in a ferocious onslaught. Whoever it was, it was not Torga; the half-Orc Sister's coat was absent, and her long braided hair was not trailing behind.

The Loviataran's dress whipped and fluttered around her legs, her hair billowing around her head like a mass of sentient tentacles. Ilgil could not be entirely sure, though she doubted it was Gwendavera – the inexperienced apprentice would be no match for any of the Sisters of St. Jaspers. It was possible the Loviataran on the quarter deck was a highly skilled veteran of whatever path she had chosen to master to be standing up to the Sister.

A cry in a language Ilgil did not recognise echoed across the water and the Sister was pushed backwards across the deck by an invisible force; orange glowing spears of magic materialised around the mage and flew at the Sister. The monk swerved and swayed like a reed in the wind, deflecting one of the projectiles and avoiding the others. The monk struck out into this air, her fists flashing white as though they were causing static shocks; Ilgil saw the air quaver, and the Sister moved forward again, no longer blocked by the invisible barrier.

With the mast and sails on fire it was easy to see the fury with which both adversaries fought, even if it was only their black silhouettes; Ilgil was surprised a mage could be competent at close combat. She thought she could see the flash of a small blade, a dirk or a large dagger, cutting through the air in an attempt to mortally wound the Sister, but the monk was agile and avoided the weapon.

Another flash, much brighter than the sparks of the Sister and blue in colour, lit the scenery as a spell erupted from the Loviataran's hands; at the same instant, the Sister rolled and flipped out of the way, regaining her feet behind her adversary. The monk's hand darted out at neck height and struck the Loviataran who crumpled to her knees, looking as if she were about to be sick. The two women ceased fighting; Ilgil couldn't see well, but it looked as though the Sister was speaking to the back of the fallen Loviataran.

Like a cornered vermin, the crouching woman spun around and lunged at the Sister, wielding the small blade. Their movements were so fast Ilgil could not decipher the exact actions of the silhouettes. In about the span of a two seconds, the outcome had changed dramatically; the woman in the dress had collided with the Sister momentarily before being flung over board, as limp as a wet towel. The Loviataran plunged into the dark waters never to be seen again. Ilgil was not concerned for the mage; her only thoughts were for the Sister who staggered sideways, before falling overboard herself. Everything was in slow motion; Ilgil's own pains forgotten as her attention was diverted to the falling Sister.

Out of the darkness from around the port side of the sinking ship a black horse and rider galloped atop the choppy waters as though the lake was solidified. Initially Ilgil wondered if this was some form of spirit come to take away the Sister's soul; but she recalled that the dead go to the plane of their chosen God, Ilmater's realm, wherever that may be, for all the Sisters – and she doubted that Ilmater would gather his followers with a phantom.

The horse and rider caught the Sister, carrying her away across the lake out of sight.

Yells from the half-Orcs outside the cabin dragged Ilgil's attention back. The aft of the Loviataran ship was rapidly going vertical; she felt the folding boat begin to tip backwards. Panic-struck she got to her feet and flew out the cabin, sidling her way to the fore of the small boat where the grappling hook was still caught firmly on the prow. Someone was being dragged onboard, but it was not Ongrat.

"Is anyone still in the ship?" She asked her wet friend; it was Orlen.

He nodded, still dripping pools of water onto the deck. "Just Ongrat."

The folding boat's fore end began to rise off the water; the hole in the Loviataran ship was now nearly six feet from the surface, rapidly gaining height as the front end of the ship sank. Without warning the folding boat dropped back down with a slap, and the rope lost its tension. Ilgil saw something shoot out of the hull breach, and land like a boulder into the lake.

Ilgil grabbed the rope and began to haul it in with all her strength, praying that there was still someone alive gripping for dear life on the other end.

"Pull the rope in!"

Six sets of hands joined Ilgil's. The rope practically flew onto the deck.

Ilgil could see the wake caused by Ongrat's body as they dragged him in; she felt a great sense of relief, but it was not to last long. When she and the others pulled him on board, he was great pools of bloodied water spread across the deck.

She swore like never before, terrified at the implications of such blood. She and the others flipped Ongrat onto his back; the source of the blood was quite obvious. He had been cut open from nipple to naval, great splinters of wood sticking into his abdomen.

"Ilmater have mercy!" Orlen exclaimed, going a little pale.

Uurgrin and several others came out of the cabin; he strode over, took in the situation, and began to take control of the chaos.

"Do not remove the splinters; he will bleed out faster if you do. Press cloth onto his wounds, around the splinters. I saw a box in the cabin; I'll check to see if it has anything useful inside."

The bald half-Orc hurried back to the cabin while everyone on the deck tore their clothes off and pressed them on Ongrat's wound. Ilgil was wailing like a newborn, unable to make out much in the darkness because her tears blurred her vision; Ongrat's ginger hair was the most visible thing. She knelt beside his shoulder, pressing her shirt onto the upper wound with both hands, praying silently with her heart and soul. She had not felt this torn since... she could not recall when.

Ongrat raised his hands and fumbled weakly with his gauntlets.

"Save your strength," one of the students urged. "You're in a bad state."

The gauntlets, made of leather and steel plates, dropped to the deck with a soft chink. Ilgil had her eyes closed when she felt a pair of cold hands lay meekly across her own.


End file.
